In which we find Devereux grappling with a melancholy resolve to conquer a troubling habit whilst reflecting upon the sombre verses of Marlowe's *Faustus*, his thoughts haunted by self-reproach and a wistful envy of simpler souls. The quiet of the night contrasts starkly with his internal strife, as he vacillates between solemn intention and the seductive pull of his vices, watched over by the uncomprehending innocence of the genial Puddock.