MARTINO. Strike with a willing hand.
[BENVOLIO strikes off FAUSTUS' head.]
His head is off.

BENVOLIO. The devil's dead; the Furies now<184> may laugh.

FREDERICK. Was this that stern aspect, that awful frown,
Made the grim monarch of infernal spirits
Tremble and quake at his commanding charms?

MARTINO. Was this that damned head, whose art<185> conspir'd
Benvolio's shame before the Emperor?

BENVOLIO. Ay, that's the head, and there<186> the body lies,
Justly rewarded for his villanies.

FREDERICK. Come, let's devise how we may add more shame
To the black scandal of his hated name.

BENVOLIO. First, on his head, in quittance of my wrongs,
I'll nail huge forked horns, and let them hang
Within the window where he yok'd me first,
That all the world may see my just revenge.

MARTINO. What use shall we put his beard to?

BENVOLIO. We'll sell it to a chimney-sweeper: it will wear out
ten birchen brooms, I warrant you.

FREDERICK. What shall his<187> eyes do?