Further then reason, which should be his pilot,
Hath skill to guide him, losing once his compass,
He falleth to such deep and dangerous whirl-pools
As he doth lose the very sight of heaven:
The more he strives to come to quiet harbor,
The further still he finds himself from land.
Man, striving still to find the depth of evil,
Seeking to be a God, becomes a Devil.

COREB.
Come, Fabell, hast thou done?

FABELL.
Yes, yes; come hither.

COREB.
Fabell, I cannot.

FABELL.
Cannot?--What ails your hollownes?

COREB.
Good Fabell, help me.

FABELL.
Alas, where lies your grief? Some Aqua-vitae!
The Devil's very sick, I fear he'll die,
For he looks very ill.

COREB.