BENVOLIO. My friends transformed thus! O, hellish spite!
Your heads are all set with horns.

FREDERICK. You hit it right;
It is your own you mean; feel on your head.

BENVOLIO. Zounds,<195> horns again!

MARTINO. Nay, chafe not, man; we all are<196> sped.

BENVOLIO. What devil attends this damn'd magician,
That, spite of spite, our wrongs are doubled?

FREDERICK. What may we do, that we may hide our shames?

BENVOLIO. If we should follow him to work revenge,
He'd join long asses' ears to these huge horns,
And make us laughing-stocks to all the world.

MARTINO. What shall we, then, do, dear Benvolio?

BENVOLIO. I have a castle joining near these woods;
And thither we'll repair, and live obscure,
Till time shall alter these<197> our brutish shapes:
Sith black disgrace hath thus eclips'd our fame,
We'll rather die with grief than live with shame.
[Exeunt.]

Enter FAUSTUS, a HORSE-COURSER, and MEPHISTOPHILIS.