“Now is he born, his parents base of stock,

In Germany, within a town call’d Rhodes;

Of riper years to Wittenberg he went,

Whereas his kinsmen chiefly brought him up.

So soon he profits in divinity,

The fruitful plot of scholarism grac’d,

That shortly he was grac’d with doctor’s name,

Excelling all whose sweet delight disputes

In heavenly matters of theology;

Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit,

His waxen wings did mount above his reach,

And, melting, Heavens conspir’d his overthrow;

For, falling to a devilish exercise,

And glutted [now] with learning’s golden gifts,

He surfeits upon cursed necromancy.

Nothing so sweet as magic is to him,

Which he prefers before his chiefest bliss.” 

The chorus warns the audience that Faustus, having risen from the common herd to become a brilliant doctor of philosophy, grows conceited and believes he is good enough to dabble in magic and other powers beyond normal human ability. His mission is dangerous and possibly evil.

“Is to dispute well logic’s chiefest end?

Affords this art no greater miracle?

Then read no more, thou hast attain’d the end;

A greater subject fitteth Faustus’ wit.” 

Faustus believes he has reached the limits of logic and ordinary philosophy; he yearns for more. That he desires knowledge and power that exceeds the limits of human accomplishment reveals his arrogance.

“What doctrine call you this, Che sera sera,

‘What will be shall be?’ Divinity, adieu!”

Faustus protests this feeble advice from the Bible. He dismisses notions of divine fate, preferring beliefs that give him knowledge and power. There is a thread of irony here, since neither knowledge nor power can save Faustus from eternal damnation once he strikes his deal with the devil.