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BENVOLIO. Away! you love me not, to urge me thus: Shall I let slip so great an injury, When every servile groom jests at my wrongs, And in their rustic gambols proudly say, "Benvolio's head was grac'd with horns today?" O, may these eyelids never close again, Till with my sword I have that [176] conjurer slain! If you will aid me in this enterprise, Then draw your weapons and be resolute; If not, depart: here will Benvolio die, But Faustus' death shall quit my [177] infamy. FREDERICK. Nay, we will stay with thee, betide what may, And kill that [178] doctor, if he come this way. BENVOLIO. Then, gentle Frederick, hie thee to the grove, And place our servants and our followers Close in an [179] ambush there behind the trees. By this, I know the conjurer is near: I saw him kneel, and kiss the Emperor's hand, And take his leave, laden with rich rewards. Then, soldiers, boldly [180] fight: if Faustus die, Take you the wealth, leave us the victory. FREDERICK. Come, soldiers, follow me unto the grove: Who kills him shall have gold and endless love. [Exit FREDERICK with SOLDIERS.] BENVOLIO. My head is lighter, than it was, by the horns; But yet my heart's [181] more ponderous than my head, And pants until I see that [182] conjurer dead.