Faust

This senseless, juggling witchcraft I detest! Dost promise that in this foul nest Of madness, I shall be restored? Must I seek counsel from an ancient dame? And can she, by these rites abhorred, Take thirty winters from my frame? Woe's me, if thou naught better canst suggest! Hope has already fled my breast. Has neither nature nor a noble mind A balsam yet devis'd of any kind?