Enter CHORUS.
CHORUS. Not marching in the fields of Thrasymene, Where Mars did
mate the warlike Carthagens;<1> Nor sporting in the dalliance of love, In
courts of kings where state is overturn\'d; Nor in the pomp of proud
audacious deeds, Intends our Muse to vaunt her<2> heavenly verse: Only
this, gentles,--we must now perform The form of Faustus\' fortunes, good
or bad: And now to patient judgments we appeal, And speak for Faustus in
his infancy. Now is he born of parents base of stock, In Germany, within a
town call\'d Rhodes: At riper years, to Wittenberg he went, Whereas his
kinsmen chiefly brought him up. So much he profits in divinity, That
shortly he was grac\'d with doctor\'s name, Excelling all, and sweetly can
dispute In th\' heavenly matters of theology; Till swoln with cunning,
of<3> a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And,
melting, heavens conspir\'d his overthrow; For, falling to a devilish
exercise, And glutted now with learning\'s golden gifts, He surfeits
upon<4> cursed necromancy; Nothing so sweet as magic is to him, Which
he prefers before his chiefest bliss: And this the man that in his study sits.
[Exit.]
FAUSTUS discovered in his study.