mental agony takes place:—however, she refuses to escape with him, and determines to abide the death.—
A hoarse well-known voice calls without, "Off! off! the morning breaks!" Furious with disappointment, Faustus attempts to force her away. Suddenly her form stiffens—her eye-balls turn upward—the arms of her lover fall numbed from her waist. To her, and to her only, the dungeon appears to open: the heaven of heavens rolls above her dizzy sight: a loud, but thrilling solemn choral hymn sails away on the air—the golden trumpet rings out its blast—An awful voice is heard—"She is tried!" A dreadful silence follows—A sweet voice then issues forth:—"She is pardoned!" The choral hymn again swells like triumphant thunder: A wild-tossing sea of clouds, like an immense curtain, stretching from earth to heaven, intervenes, and conceals the whole from sight.—The saved creature stands, still bound in that beatific trance.—
"Thou foolish woman," Faustus begins—"Come, come, our horses stamp," breaks from the impatient devil in a dreadful tone! and, putting in an iron arm, he wrenches away the miserable Faustus. The curtain drops.
If after the above (in our eyes at least) sentimental and pathetic description, there be found any amateurs in London, so blind to their own good, as not to put 12s. 6d. in their purses, and march
