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O, help us, heaven! [265] see, here are Faustus' limbs, All torn asunder by the hand of death! THIRD SCHOLAR. The devils whom Faustus serv'd have [266] torn him thus; For, twixt the hours of twelve and one, methought, I heard him shriek and call aloud for help; At which self [267] time the house seem'd all on fire With dreadful horror of these damned fiends. SECOND SCHOLAR. Well, gentlemen, though Faustus' end be such As every Christian heart laments to think on, Yet, for he was a scholar once admir'd For wondrous knowledge in our German schools, We'll give his mangled limbs due burial; And all the students, cloth'd in mourning black, Shall wait upon his heavy funeral. [Exeunt.] Enter CHORUS. CHORUS. 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: regard his hellish fall, 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 auctor opus.