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FAUSTUS discovered in his study.[7] Bid Economy[10] farewell, and[11] Galen come, He surfeits upon cursed necromancy; [Exit.] Sweet Analytics, 'tis thou[8] hast ravish'd me! FAUSTUS. Settle thy studies, Faustus, and begin A greater subject fitteth Faustus' wit: Seeing, Ubi desinit philosophus, ibi incipit medicus: His waxen wings did mount above his reach, Which he prefers before his chiefest bliss: Bene disserere est finis logices. Yet level at the end of every art, Affords this art no greater miracle? For, falling to a devilish exercise, And, melting, heavens conspir'd his overthrow; And glutted now[6] with learning's golden gifts, Be a physician, Faustus; heap up gold, Nothing so sweet as magic is to him, Is, to dispute well, logic's chiefest end? Till swoln with cunning,[5] of a self-conceit, And be eterniz'd for some wondrous cure: In heavenly matters of theology; Having commenc'd, be a divine in shew, Then read no more; thou hast attain'd that[9] end: And live and die in Aristotle's works. And this the man that in his study sits. To sound the depth of that thou wilt profess: