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FAUSTUS. Ay, pray, do, for Faustus is a-dry. POPE. Lord Raymond, I drink unto your grace. FAUSTUS. I pledge your grace. [Snatches the cup.] POPE. My wine gone too!--Ye lubbers, look about, And find the man that doth this villany, Or, by our sanctitude, you all shall die!-- I pray, my lords, have patience at this Troublesome banquet. ARCHBISHOP. Please it [134] your Holiness, I think it be some ghost crept out of Purgatory, and now is come unto your Holiness for his pardon. POPE. It may be so.-- Go, then, command our priests to sing a dirge, To lay the fury of this same troublesome ghost. [Exit an ATTENDANT.--The POPE crosses himself.] FAUSTUS. How now! must every bit be spic'd with a cross?-- Nay, then, take that. [Strikes the POPE.] POPE. O, I am slain!--Help me, my lords! O, come and help to bear my body hence!-- Damn'd be his [135] soul for ever for this deed! [Exeunt all except FAUSTUS and MEPHISTOPHILIS.] MEPHIST. Now, Faustus, what will you do now? for I can tell you you'll be cursed with bell, book, and candle. FAUSTUS. Bell, book, and candle,--candle, book, and bell,--