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RALPH. Why, Robin, what book is that?
ROBIN. What book! why, the most intolerable book for conjuring
that e'er was invented by any brimstone devil.
RALPH. Canst thou conjure with it?
ROBIN. I can do all these things easily with it; first, I can
make thee drunk with ippocras at any tabern in Europe
for nothing; that's one of my conjuring works.
RALPH. Our Master Parson says that's nothing.
ROBIN. True, Ralph: and more, Ralph, if thou hast any mind to
Nan Spit, our kitchen-maid, then turn her and wind her to thy own
use, as often as thou wilt, and at midnight.
RALPH. O, brave, Robin! shall I have Nan Spit, and to mine own
use? On that condition I'll feed thy devil with horse-bread as
long as he lives, of free cost.
ROBIN. No more, sweet Ralph: let's go and make clean our boots,
which lie foul upon our hands, and then to our conjuring in the
devil's name.
[Exeunt.]
Enter ROBIN and RALPH with a silver goblet.
ROBIN. Come, Ralph: did not I tell thee, we were for ever made
by this Doctor Faustus' book? ecce, signum! here's a simple
purchase for horse-keepers: our horses shall eat no hay as
long as this lasts.
RALPH. But, Robin, here comes the Vintner.
ROBIN. Hush! I'll gull him supernaturally.
Enter VINTNER.
Drawer, I hope all is paid; God be with you!—Come, Ralph.
VINTNER. Soft, sir; a word with you. I must yet have a goblet paid
from you, ere you go.
ROBIN. I a goblet, Ralph, I a goblet!—I scorn you; and you are
but a, &c. I a goblet! search me.
VINTNER. I mean so, sir, with your favour.
[Searches ROBIN.]
ROBIN. How say you now?
VINTNER. I must say somewhat to your fellow.—You, sir!
RALPH. Me, sir! me, sir! search your fill. [VINTNER searches him.]
Now, sir, you may be ashamed to burden honest men with a matter
of truth.
VINTNER. Well, tone of you hath this goblet about you.
ROBIN. You lie, drawer, 'tis afore me [Aside].—Sirrah you, I'll
teach you to impeach honest men;—stand by;—I'll scour you for
a goblet;—stand aside you had best, I charge you in the name of
Belzebub.—Look to the goblet, Ralph [Aside to RALPH].
VINTNER. What mean you, sirrah?
ROBIN. I'll tell you what I mean. [Reads from a book] Sanctobulorum
Periphrasticon—nay, I'll tickle you, Vintner.—Look to the goblet,
Ralph [Aside to RALPH].—[Reads] Polypragmos Belseborams framanto
pacostiphos tostu, Mephistophilis, &c.
Enter MEPHISTOPHILIS, sets squibs at their backs, and then
exit. They run about.
VINTNER. O, nomine Domini! what meanest thou, Robin? thou hast no
goblet.
RALPH. Peccatum peccatorum!—Here's thy goblet, good Vintner.
[Gives the goblet to VINTNER, who exit.]
ROBIN. Misericordia pro nobis! what shall I do? Good devil, forgive
me now, and I'll never rob thy library more.
Re-enter MEPHISTOPHILIS.
MEPHIST. Monarch of Hell, under whose black survey
Great potentates do kneel with awful fear,
Upon whose altars thousand souls do lie,
How am I vexed with these villains' charms?
From Constantinople am I hither come,
Only for pleasure of these damned slaves.
ROBIN. How, from Constantinople! you have had
