Virtue Is The Fount Whence Honour Springs.

O, Thou Art Fairer Than The Evening Air Clad In The Beauty Of A Thousand Stars.

Cut Is The Branch That Might Have Grown Full Straight, And Burned Is Apollo's Laurel Bough, That Sometime Grew Within This Learned Man. Faustus Is Gone.

Faustus. [stabbing His Arm.] Lo, Mephistophilis, For Love Of Thee, I Cut Mine Arm, And With My Proper Blood Assure My Soul To Be Great Lucifer's, Chief Lord And Regent Of Perpetual Night!

There Is No Sin But Ignorance.

Love Me Little, Love Me Long.