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Despair doth drive distrust into[142] my thoughts: Confound these passions with a quiet sleep: Tush, Christ did call the thief upon the Cross; Then rest thee, Faustus, quiet in conceit. [Sleeps in his chair.] Re-enter HORSE-COURSER, all wet, crying. HORSE-COURSER. Alas, alas! Doctor Fustian, quoth a? mass, Doctor Lopus[143] was never such a doctor: has given me a purgation, has purged me of forty dollars; I shall never see them more. But yet, like an ass as I was, I would not be ruled by him, for he bade me I should ride him into no water: now I, thinking my horse had had some rare quality that he would not have had me know of,[144] I, like a venturous youth, rid him into the deep pond at the town's end. I was no sooner in the middle of the pond, but my horse vanished away, and I sat upon a bottle of hay, never so near drowning in my life. But I'll seek out my doctor, and have my forty dollars again, or I'll make it the dearest horse!--O, yonder is his snipper-snapper.--Do you hear? you, hey-pass,[145] where's your master? MEPHIST. Why, sir, what would you? you cannot speak with him. HORSE-COURSER. But I will speak with him. MEPHIST. Why, he's fast asleep: come some other time. HORSE-COURSER. I'll speak with him now, or I'll break his glass-windows about his ears. MEPHIST. I tell thee, he has not slept this eight nights. HORSE-COURSER. An he have not slept this eight weeks, I'll speak with him.