Enter CHORUS.
CHORUS
Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight,
And burnèd is Apollo’s laurel bough
That sometime grew within this learnèd man.
Faustus is gone. Regard his hellish fall,
5 Whose fiendful fortune may exhort the wise
Only to wonder at unlawful things,
Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits
To practise more than heavenly power permits.
[Exit.]
Terminat hora diem; terminat author opus.