Little Theater Classics, 第 1 卷

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Samuel Atkins Eliot, Samuel A. Eliot (Jr.)
Little, Brown, 1918
 

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第 114 頁 - All things that move between the quiet poles Shall be at my command : emperors and kings Are but obeyed in their several provinces, Nor can they raise the wind or rend the clouds ; But his dominion that exceeds in this Stretcheth as far as doth the mind of man, A sound magician is a mighty god : Here, Faustus, tire thy brains to gain a deity.
第 160 頁 - Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air Clad in, the beauty of a thousand stars...
第 160 頁 - Her lips suck forth my soul: see, where it flies! — Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again. Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips, And all is dross that is not Helena.
第 168 頁 - Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight, And burned is Apollo's laurel bough That sometime grew within this learned man...
第 116 頁 - I'll have them read me strange philosophy And tell the secrets of all foreign kings; I'll have them wall all Germany with brass, And make swift Rhine circle fair Wittenberg, I'll have them fill the public schools...
第 130 頁 - But, Faustus, thou must bequeath it solemnly, And write a deed of gift with thine own blood, For that security craves great Lucifer. If thou deny it, I will back to hell.
第 127 頁 - CLOWN. How! a Christian fellow to a dog or a cat, a mouse or a rat! No, no, sir. If you turn me into...
第 155 頁 - Old Man. Ah, Doctor Faustus, that I might prevail To guide thy steps unto the way of life, By which sweet path thou may'st attain the goal That shall conduct thee to celestial rest! Break heart, drop blood, and mingle it with tears, Tears falling from repentant heaviness Of thy most vile and loathsome filthiness...
第 149 頁 - Master Doctor Faustus, I have heard strange report of thy knowledge in the black art, how that none in my empire nor in the whole world can compare with thee for the rare effects of magic: they say thou hast a familiar spirit, by whom thou canst accomplish what thou list.
第 167 頁 - O, no end is limited to damned souls. Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul? Or, why is this immortal that thou hast? Ah, Pythagoras' metempsychosis, were that true, This soul should fly from me, and I be changed Unto some brutish beast.

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