I'm armed with more than complete steel, - The justice of my quarrel.

Nothing violent, oft have I heard tell, can be permanent.

O, thou art fairer than the evening air clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.

I'm armed with more than complete steel, - The justice of my quarrel.

Religion! O Diabole! Fie, I am asham'd, however that I seem, To think a word of such simple sound, Of such great matter should be made the ground.

Had I as many souls as there be stars, I'd give them all for Mephistopheles!

Why this is hell, nor am I out of it: Thinkst thou that I who saw the face of God, And tasted the eternal joys of heaven, Am not tormented with ten thousand hells In being deprived of everlasting bliss! . . . When all the world dissolves, And every creature shall be purified, All places shall be hell that are not heaven.