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FAUSTUS. Where art thou, Faustus? wretch, what hast thou done? This magic, that will charm thy soul to hell, Seems harsh and all unpleasant: let it not; It may be, this my exhortation Then, Faustus, will repentance come too late; Though thou hast now offended like a man, Then thou art banish'd from the sight of heaven: OLD MAN. O, stay, good Faustus, stay thy desperate steps! And pity of thy future misery; And so have hope that this my kind rebuke, Then call for mercy, and avoid despair. OLD MAN. O gentle Faustus, leave this damned art, For, gentle son, I speak it not in wrath, Checking thy body, may amend thy soul. If sin by custom grow not into nature; [MEPHISTOPHILIS gives him a dagger.] Says, "Faustus, come; thine hour is almost come;" Do not persever in it like a devil: And, with a vial full of precious grace, I see an angel hover o'er thy head, Hell claims his right, and with a roaring voice Offers to pour the same into thy soul: Yet, yet thou hast an amiable soul, Or envy of thee, [235] but in tender love, And quite bereave thee of salvation! No mortal can express the pains of hell. And Faustus now will come to do thee right.