University of Virginia Library

Act II.

Scene I.

Mammon
, Svrly.
Come on, sir. Now, you set your foot on shore
In nouo orbe; Here's the rich Peru:
And there within, sir, are the golden mines,
Great Salomon's Ophir! He was sayling to't,
Three yeeres, but we haue reach'd it in ten months.
This is the day, wherein, to all my friends,
I will pronounce the happy word, be rich.
This day, you shall be spectatissimi.
You shall no more deale with the hollow die,
Or the fraile card. No more be at charge of keeping
The liuery-punke, for the yong heire, that must
Seale, at all houres, in his shirt. No more
If he denie, ha' him beaten to't, as he is
That brings him the commoditie. No more
Shall thirst of satten, or the couetous hunger
Of veluet entrailes, for a rude-spun cloke,
To be displaid at Madame Avgvsta's, make
The sonnes of sword, and hazzard fall before
The golden calfe, and on their knees, whole nights,
Commit idolatrie with wine, and trumpets:
Or goe a feasting, after drum and ensigne.
No more of this. You shall start vp yong Vice-royes,
And haue your punques, and punquettees, my Svrly.
And vnto thee, I speake it first, be rich.
Where is my Svbtle, there? Within hough?

Within
Sir.
Hee'll come to you, by and by.

Mam.
That's his fire-drake,
His lungs, his Zephyrus, he that puffes his coales,
Till he firke nature vp, in her owne center.
You are not faithfull, sir. This night, I'll change
All, that is mettall, in thy house, to gold.
And, early in the morning, will I send
To all the plumbers, and the pewterers,
And buy their tin, and lead vp: and to Lothbury,
For all the copper.

Svr.
What, and turne that too?

Mam.
Yes, and I'll purchase Deuonshire, and Cornwaile,
And make them perfect Indies! You admire now?

Svr.
No faith.

Mam.
But when you see th'effects of the great med'cine!
Of which one part proiected on a hundred
Of Mercurie, or Venus, or the Moone,
Shall turne it, to as many of the Sunne;
Nay, to a thousand, so ad infinitum:
You will beleeue me.

Svr.
Yes, when I see't, I will.
But, if my eyes doe cossen me so (and I
Giuing 'hem no occasion) sure, I'll haue
A whore, shall pisse 'hem out, next day.

Mam.
Ha! Why?
Doe you thinke, I fable with you? I assure you,
He that has once the flower of the sunne,
The perfect ruby, which we call elixir,
Not onely can doe that, but by it's vertue,
Can confer honour, loue, respect, long life,
Giue safetie, valure: yea, and victorie,
To whom he will. In eight, and twentie dayes,
I'll make an old man, of fourescore, a childe.

Svr.
No doubt, hee's that alreadie.

Mam.
Nay, I meane,
Restore his yeeres, renew him, like an eagle,
To the fifth age; make him get sonnes, and daughters,
Yong giants; as our Philosophers haue done
(The antient Patriarkes afore the floud)
But taking, once a weeke, on a kniues point,
The quantitie of a graine of mustard, of it:
Become stout Marses, and beget yong Cvpids.

Svr.
The decay'd Vestall's of Pickt-hatch would thanke you,
That keepe the fire a-liue, there.

Mam.
'Tis the secret
Of nature, naturiz'd 'gainst all infections,
Cures all diseases, comming of all causes,
A month's griefe, in a day; a yeeres, in twelue:
And, of what age soeuer, in a month.
Past all the doses, of your drugging Doctors.
I'll vndertake, withall, to fright the plague
Out o'the kingdome, in three months.

Svr.
And I'll
Be bound, the players shall sing your praises, then,
Without their poets.

Mam.
Sir, I'll doo't. Meane time,
I'll giue away so much, vnto my man,
Shall serue th'whole citie, with preseruatiue,
Weekely, each house his dose, and at the rate—

Svr.
As he that built the water-worke, do's with water?

Mam.
You are incredulous.

Svr.
Faith, I haue a humor,
I would not willingly be gull'd. Your stone
Cannot transmute me.

Mam.
Pertinax, Svrly,
Will you beleeue antiquitie? recordes?
I'll shew you a booke, where Moses, and his sister,
And Salomon haue written, of the art;
I, and a treatise penn'd by Adam.

Svr.
How!

Mam.
O'the Philosophers stone, and in high-Dutch.

Svr.
Did Adam write, sir, in high-Dutch?

Mam.
He did:
Which proues it was the primitiue tongue.

Svr.
What paper?

Mam.
On cedar board.

Svr.
O that, indeed (they say)
Will last 'gainst wormes.

Mam.
'Tis like your Irish wood,
'Gainst cob-webs. I haue a peece of Iasons fleece, too,
Which was no other, then a booke of alchemie,
Writ in large sheepe-skin, a good fat ram-vellam.
Such was Pythagora's thigh, Pandora's tub;
And, all that fable of Medeas charmes,
The manner of our worke: The Bulls, our fornace,
Still breathing fire; our argent-vine, the Dragon:
The Dragons teeth, mercury sublimate,
That keepes the whitenesse, hardnesse, and the biting;
And they are gather'd, into Iason's helme,
(Th'alembeke) and then sow'd in Mars his field,
And, thence, sublim'd so often, till they are fix'd.
Both this, th'Hesperian garden, Cadmvs storie,
Iove's shower, the boone of Midas, Argvs eyes,
Boccace his Demogorgon, thousands more,
All abstract riddles of our stone. How now?

Scene II.

Mammon
, Face, Svrly.
Doe wee succeed? Is our day come? and hold's it?

Fac.
The euening will set red, vpon you, sir;
You haue colour for it, crimson: the red ferment
Has done his office. Three houres hence, prepare you
To see proiection.

Mam.
Pertinax, my Svrly,
Againe, I say to thee, aloud: be rich.
This day, thou shalt haue ingots: and, to morrow,
Giue lords th'affront. Is it, my Zephyrvs, right?
Blushes the bolts-head?

Fac.
Like a wench with child, sir,
That were, but now, discouer'd to her master.

Mam.
Excellent wittie Lungs! My onely care is,
Where to get stuffe, inough now, to proiect on,
This towne will not halfe serue me.

Fac.
No, sir? Buy
The couering of o' churches.

Mam.
That's true.

Fac.
Yes.
Let 'hem stand bare, as doe their auditorie.
Or cap 'hem, new, with shingles.

Mam.
No, good thatch:
Thatch will lie light vpo' the rafters, Lungs.
Lungs, I will manumit thee, from the fornace;
I will restore thee thy complexion, Puffe,
Lost in the embers; and repaire this braine,
Hurt wi'the fume o'the mettalls.

Fac.
I haue blowne, sir,
Hard, for your worship; throwne by many a coale,
When 'twas not beech; weigh'd those I put in, iust,
To keepe your heat, still euen; These bleard-eyes
Haue wak'd, to reade your seuerall colours, sir,
Of the pale citron, the greene lyon, the crow,
The peacocks taile, the plumed swan.

Mam.
And, lastly,
Thou hast descryed the flower, the sanguis agni?

Fac.
Yes, sir.

Mam.
Where's master?

Fac.
At's praiers, sir, he,
Good man, hee's doing his deuotions,
For the successe.

Mam.
Lungs, I will set a period,
To all thy labours: Thou shalt be the master
Of my seraglia.

Fac.
Good, sir.

Mam.
But doe you heare?
I'll geld you, Lungs.

Fac:
Yes, sir.

Mam.
For I doe meane
To haue a list of wiues, and concubines,
Equall with Salomon; who had the stone
Alike, with me: and I will make me, a back
With the elixir, that shall be as tough
As Hercvles, to encounter fiftie a night.
Th'art sure, thou saw'st it bloud?

Fac.
Both bloud, and spirit, sir.

Mam.
I will haue all my beds, blowne vp; not stuft:
Downe is too hard. And then, mine oual roome,
Fill'd with such pictures, as Tiberivs tooke
From Elephantis: and dull Aretine
But coldly imitated. Then, my glasses,
Cut in more subtill angles, to disperse,
And multiply the figures, as I walke
Naked betweene my succubæ. My mists
I'le haue of perfume, vapor'd 'bout the roome,
To loose our selues in; and my baths, like pits
To fall into: from whence, we will come forth,
And rowle vs drie in gossamour, and roses.
(Is it arriu'd at ruby?)—Where I spie
A wealthy citizen, or rich lawyer,
Haue a sublim'd pure wife, vnto that fellow
I'll send a thousand pound, to be my cuckold.

Fac.
And I shall carry it?

Mam.
No. I'll ha' no bawds,
But fathers, and mothers. They will doe it best.
Best of all others. And, my flatterers
Shall be the pure, and grauest of Diuines,
That I can get for money. My mere fooles,
Eloquent burgesses, and then my poets
The same that writ so subtly of the fart,
Whom I will entertaine, still, for that subiect.
The few, that would giue out themselues, to be
Court, and towne-stallions, and, each where, belye
Ladies, who are knowne most innocent, for them;
Those will I begge, to make me eunuchs of:
And they shall fan me with ten estrich tailes
A piece, made in a plume, to gather wind.
We will be braue, Puffe, now we ha' the med'cine.
My meat, shall all come in, in Indian shells,
Dishes of agate, set in gold, and studded,
With emeralds, saphyres, hiacynths, and rubies.
The tongues of carpes, dormise, and camels heeles,
Boil'd i'the spirit of Sol, and dissolu'd pearle,
(Apicivs diet, 'gainst the epilepsie)
And I will eate these broaths, with spoones of amber,
Headed with diamant, and carbuncle.
My foot-boy shall eate phesants, caluerd salmons,
Knots, godwits, lamprey's: I my selfe will haue
The beards of barbels, seru'd, in stead of sallades;
Oild mushromes; and the swelling vnctuous paps
Of a fat pregnant sow, newly cut off,
Drest with an exquisite, and poynant sauce;
For which, Ile say vnto my cooke, there's gold,
Goe forth, and be a knight.

Fac.
Sir, I'll goe looke
A little, how it heightens.

Mam.
Doe. My shirts
I'll haue of taffata-sarsnet, soft, and light
As cob-webs; and for all my other rayment
It shall be such, as might prouoke the Persian;
Were he to teach the world riot, a new.
My gloues of fishes, and birds-skins, perfum'd
With gummes of paradise, and easterne aire—

Svr.
And do you thinke to haue the stone, with this?

Mam.
No, I doe thinke, t'haue all this, with the stone.

Svr.
Why, I haue heard, he must be homo frugi,
A pious, holy, and religious man,
One free from mortall sinne, a very virgin.

Mam.
That makes it, sir, he is so. But I buy it.
My venter brings it me. He, honest wretch,
A notable, superstitious, good soule,
Has worme his knees bare, and his slippers bald,
With prayer, and fasting for it: and, sir, let him
Do'it alone, for me, still. Here he comes,
Not a prophane word, afore him: 'Tis poyson.

Scene III.

Mammon
, Svbtle, Svrly, Face.
Good morrow, father.

Svb.
Gentle sonne, good morrow,
And, to your friend, there. What is he, is with you?

Mam.
An heretique, that I did bring along,
In hope, sir, to conuert him.

Svb.
Sonne, I doubt
Yo'are couetous, that thus you meet your time
I'the iust point: preuent your day, at morning.
This argues something, worthy of a feare
Of importune, and carnall appetite.
Take heed, you doe not cause the blessing leaue you,
With your vngouern'd hast. I should be sorry,
To see my labours, now, e'ene at perfection,
Got by long watching, and large patience,
Not prosper, where my loue, and zeale hath plac'd 'hem.
Which (heauen I call to witnesse, with your selfe,
To whom, I haue pour'd my thoughts) in all my ends,
Haue look'd no way, but vnto publique good,
To pious vses, and deere charitie,
No growne a prodigie with men. Wherein
If you, my sonne, should now preuaricate,
And, to your owne particular lusts, employ
So great, and catholique a blisse: be sure,
A curse will follow, yea, and ouertake
Your subtle, and most secret wayes.

Mam.
I know, sir,
You shall not need to feare me. I but come,
To ha'you confute this gentleman.

Svr.
Who is,
Indeed, sir, somewhat caustiue of beliefe
Toward your stone: would not be gull'd.

Svb.
Well, sonne,
All that I can conuince him in, is this,
The worke is done: Bright Sol is in his robe.
We haue a med'cine of the triple Soule,
The glorified spirit. Thankes be to heauen,
And make vs worthy of it. Ulen spiegel.

Fac.
Anone, sir.

Svb.
Looke well to the register,
And let your heat, still, lessen by degrees,
To the Aludels.

Fac.
Yes, sir.

Svb.
Did you looke
O'the Bolts-head yet?

Fac.
Which on D. sir?

Svb.
I.
What's the complexion?

Fac.
Whitish.

Svb.
Infuse vinegar,
To draw his volatile substance, and his tincture:
And let the water in Glasse E. be feltred,
And put into the Gripes egge. Lute him well;
And leaue him clos'd in balneo.

Fac.
I will, sir.

Svr.
What a braue language here is? next to canting?

Svb.
I'haue another worke; you neuer saw, sonne,
That, three dayes since, past the Philosophers wheele,
In the lent heat of Athanor; and's become
Sulphur o'nature.

Mam.
But 'tis for me?

Svb.
What need you?
You haue inough, in that is, perfect.

Mam.
O, but—

Svb.
Why, this is couetise!

Mam.
No, I assure you,
I shall employ it all, in pious vses,
Founding of colledges, and grammar schooles,
Marrying yong virgins, building hospitalls,
And now, and then, a church.

Svb.
How now?

Fac.
Sir, please you,
Shall I not change the feltre?

Svb.
Mary, yes.
And bring me the complexion of Glasse B.

Mam.
Ha' you another?

Svb.
Yes, sonne, were I assur'd
Your pietie were firme, we would not want
The meanes to glorifie it. But I hope the best:
I meane to tinct C. in sand-heat, to morrow,
And giue him imbibition.

Mam.
Of white oile?

Svb.
No, sir, of red. F. is come ouer the helme too,
I thanke my Maker, in S. Maries bath,
And shewes lac Virginis. Blessed be heauen.
I sent you of his fæces there, calcin'd.
Out of that calx, I'ha' wonne the salt of Mercvry.

Mam.
By powring on your rectified water?

Svb.
Yes, and reuerberating in Athanor.
How now? What colour saies it?

Fac.
The ground black, sir.

Mam.
That's your crowes-head?

Svr.
Your cocks-comb's, is't not?

Svb.
No, 'tis not perfect, would it were the crow.
That worke wants some-thing.

Svr.
(O, I look'd for this.
The hay is a pitching.)

Svb.
Are you sure, you loos'd 'hem
I'their owne menstrue?

Fac.
Yes, sir, and then married 'hem,
And put'hem in a Bolts-bead, nipp'd to digestion,
According as you bad me; when I set
The liquor of Mars to circulation,
In the same heat.

Svb.
The processe, then, was right.

Fac.
Yes, by the token, sir, the Retort brake,
And what was sau'd, was put into the Pellicane,
And sign'd with Hermes seale.

Svb.
I thinke 'twas so.
We should haue a new amalgama.

Svr.
(O, this ferret
Is ranke as any pole-cat.)

Svb.
But I care not.
Let him e'ene die; we haue enough beside,
In embrion. H ha's his white shirt on?

Fac.
Yes, sir,
Hee's ripe for inceration: He stands warme,
In his ash-fire. I would not, you should let
Any die now, if I might counsell, sir,
For lucks sake to the rest. It is not good.

Mam.
He saies right.

Svr.
I, are you bolted?

Fac.
Nay, I know't, sir,
I'haue seene th'ill fortune. What is some three ounces
Of fresh materialls?

Mam.
Is't no more?

Fac.
No more, sir,
Of gold, t'amalgame, with some sixe of Mercurie.

Mam.
Away, here's money. What will serue?

Fac.
Aske him, sir.

Mam.
How much?

Svb.
Giue him nine pound: you may gi'him ten.

Svr.
Yes, twentie, and be cossend, doe.

Mam.
There 'tis.

Svb.
This needs not. But that you will haue it, so;
To see conclusions of all. For two
Of our inferiour workes, are at fixation.
A third is in ascension. Goe your waies.
Ha'you set the oile of Luna in kemia?

Fac.
Yes, sir.

Svb.
And the philosophers vinegar?

Fac.
I.

Svr.
We shall haue a sallad.

Mam.
When doe you make proiection?

Svb.
Sonne, be not hastie, I exalt our med'cine,
By hanging him in balneo vaporoso;
And giuing him solution; then congeale him;
And then dissolue him; then againe congeale him;
For looke, how oft I iterate the worke,
So many times, I adde vnto his vertue.
As, if at first, one ounce conuert a hundred,
After his second loose, hee'll turne a thousand;
His third solution, ten; his fourth, a hundred.
After his fifth, a thousand thousand ounces
Of any imperfect mettall, into pure
Siluer, or gold, in all examinations,
As good, as any of the naturall mine.
Get you your stuffe here, against after-noone,
Your brasse, your pewter, and your andirons.

Mam.
Not those of iron?

Svb.
Yes. You may bring them, too.
Wee'll change all mettall's.

Svr.
I beleeue you, in that.

Mam.
Then I may send my spits?

Svb.
Yes, and your racks.

Svr.
And dripping-pans, and pot-hangers, and hookes?
Shall he not?

Svb.
If he please.

Svr.
To be an asse.

Svb.
How, sir!

Mam.
This gent'man, you must beare withall.
I told you, he had no faith.

Svr.
And little hope, sir,
But, much lesse charitie, should I gull my selfe.

Svb.
Why, what haue you obseru'd, sir, in our art,
Seemes so impossible?

Svr.
But your whole worke, no more.
That you should hatch gold in a fornace, sir,
As they doe egges, in Egypt!

Svb.
Sir, doe you
Beleeue that egges are hatch'd so?

Svr.
If I should?

Svb.
Why, I thinke that the greater miracle.
No egge, but differs from a chicken, more,
Then mettalls in themselues.

Svr.
That cannot be.
The egg's ordain'd by nature, to that end:
And is a chicken in potentia.

Svb.
The same we say of lead, and other mettalls,
Which would be gold, if they had time.

Mam.
And that
Our art doth furder.

Svb.
I, for 'twere absurd
To thinke that nature, in the earth, bred gold
Perfect, i'the instant. Something went before.
There must be remote matter.

Svr.
I, what is that?

Svb.
Mary, we say—

Mam.
I, now it heats: stand Father.
Pound him to dust—

Svb.
It is, of the one part,
A humide exhalation, which we call
Materia liquida, or the vnctuous water;
On th'other part, a certaine crasse, and viscous
Portion of earth; both which, concorporate,
Doe make the elementarie matter of gold:
Which is not, yet, propria materia,
But commune to all mettalls, and all stones.
For, where it is forsaken of that moysture,
And hath more drynesse, it becomes a stone;
Where it retaines more of the humid fatnesse,
It turnes to sulphur, or to quick-siluer:
Who are the parents of all other mettalls.
Nor can this remote matter, so dainly,
Progresse so from extreme, vnto extreme,
As to grow gold, and leape ore all the meanes.
Nature doth, first, beget th'imperfect; then
Proceedes shee to the perfect. Of that ayrie,
And oily water, mercury is engendred;
Sulphure o' the fat, and earthy part: the one
(Which is the last) supplying the place of male,
The other of the female, in all mettalls.
Some doe beleeue hermaphrodeitie,
That both doe act, and suffer. But, these two
Make the rest ductile, malleable, extensiue.
And, euen in gold, they are; for we doe find
Seedes of them, by our fire, and gold in them:
And can produce the species of each mettall
More perfect thence, then nature doth in earth.
Beside, who doth not see, in daily practice,
Art can beget bees, hornets, beetles, waspes,
Out of the carcasses, and dung of creatures;
Yea, scorpions, of an herbe, being ritely plac'd:
And these are liuing creatures, far more perfect,
And excellent, then mettalls.

Mam.
Well said, father!
Nay, if he take you in hand, sir, with an argument,
Hee'll bray you in a morter.

Svr.
'Pray you, sir, stay.
Rather, then I'll be brai'd, sir, I'll beleeue,
That Alchemie is a pretty kind of game,
Somewhat like tricks o' the cards, to cheat a man,
With charming.

Svb.
Sir?

Svr.
What else are all your termes,
Whereon no one o'your writers grees with other?
Of your elixir, your lac virginis,
Your stone, your med'cine, and your chrysosperme,
Your sal, your sulphur, and your mercurie,
Your oyle of height, your tree of life, your bloud,
Your marchesite, your tutie, your magnesia,
Your toade, your crow, your dragon, and your panthar,
Your sunne, your moone, your firmament, your adrop,
Your lato, azoch, zernich, chibrit, heautarit,
And then, your red man, and your white woman,
With all your broths, your menstrues, and materialls,
Of pisse, and egge-shells, womens termes, mans bloud,
Haire o'the head, burnt clouts, chalke, merds, and clay,
Poulder of bones, scalings of iron, glasse,
And worlds of other strange ingredients,
Would burst a man to name?

Svb.
And all these, nam'd,
Intending but one thing: which art our writers
Vs'd to obscure their art.

Mam.
Sir, so I told him,
Because the simple idiot should not learne it,
And make it vulgar.

Svb.
Was not all the knowledge
Of the Egyptians writ in mystick symboles?
Speake not the Scriptures, oft, in parables?
Are not the choisest fables of the Poets,
That were the fountaines, and first springs of wisedome,
Wrapt in perplexed allegories?

Mam.
I vrg'd that,
And clear'd to him, that Sisiphvs was damn'd
To roule the ceaslesse stone, onely, because
He would haue made ours common. Who is this?

Dol is seene.
Svb.
God's precious—What doe you meane? Goe in, good lady,
Let me intreat you. Where's this varlet?

Fac.
Sir?

Svb.
You very knaue! doe you vse me, thus?

Fac.
Wherein, sir?

Svb.
Goe in, and see, you traitor. Goe.

Mam.
Who is it, sir?

Svb.
Nothing, sir. Nothing.

Mam.
What's the matter? good, sir!
I haue not seene you thus distemp'red. Who is't?

Svb.
All arts haue still had, sir, their aduersaries,
Face returnes.
But ours the most ignorant. What now?

Fac.
'Twas not my fault, sir, shee would speake with you.

Svb.
Would she, sir? Follow me.

Mam.
Stay, Lungs.

Fac.
I dare not, sir.

Mam.
How! 'Pray thee stay?

Fac.
She's mad, sir, and sent hether—

Mam.
Stay man, what is shee?

Fac.
A lords sister, sir.
(Hee'll be mad too.

Mam.
I warrant thee.) Why sent hether?

He goes out.
Fac.
Sir, to be cur'd.

Svb.
Why, raskall!

Fac.
Loe you. Here, sir.

Mam.
'Fore-god, a Bradamante, a braue piece.

Svr.
Hart, this is a bawdy-house! I'll be burnt else.

Mam.
O, by this light, no. Doe not wrong him. H'is
Too scrupulous, that way. It is his vice.
No, h'is a rare physitian, doe him right.
An excellent Paracelsian! and has done
Strange cures with minerall physicke. He deales all
With spirits, he. He will not heare a word
Of Galen, or his tedious recipe's.
Face againe.
How now, Lungs!

Fac.
Softly, sir, speake softly. I meant
To ha' told your worship all. This must not heare.

Mam.
No, he will not be gull'd; let him alone.

Fac.
Y'are very right, sir, shee is a most rare schollar;
And is gone mad, with studying Bravghtons workes.
If you but name a word, touching the Hebrew,
Shee falls into her fit, and will discourse
So learnedly of genealogies,
As you would runne mad, too, to heare her, sir.

Mam.
How might one doe t'haue conference with her, Lungs?

Fac.
O, diuers haue runne mad vpon the conference.
I doe not know, sir: I am sent in hast,
To fetch a violl.

Svr.
Be not gull'd, sir Mammon.

Mam.
Wherein? 'Pray yee, be patient.

Svr.
Yes, as you are.
And trust confederate knaues, and bawdes, and whores.

Mam.
You are too foule, beleeue it. Come, here, Ulen.
One word.

Fac.
I dare not, in good faith.

Mam.
Stay, knaue.

Fac.
H'is extreme angrie, that you saw her, sir.

Mam.
Drinke that. What is shee, when shee's out of her fit?

Fac:
O, the most affablest creature, sir! so merry!
So pleasant! shee'll mount you vp, like quick-siluer,
Ouer the helme; and circulate, like oyle,
A very vegetall: discourse of state,
Of mathematiques, bawdry, any thing—

Mam.
Is shee no way accessible? no meanes,
No trick, to giue a man a tast of her—wit—
Or so?—Ulen.

Fac.
I'll come to you againe, sir.

Mam.
Svrly, I did not thinke, one o' your breeding
Would traduce personages of worth.

Svr.
Sir Epicvre,
Your friend to vse: yet, still, loth to be gull'd.
I doe not like your philosophicall bawdes.
Their stone is lecherie inough, to pay for,
Without this bait.

Mam.
'Hart, you abuse your selfe.
I know the lady, and her friends, and meanes,
The originall of this disaster. Her brother
H'as told me all.

Svr.
And yet, you ne're saw her
Till now?

Mam.
O, yes, but I forgot. I haue (beleeue it)
One o'the trecherou'st memories, I doe thinke,
Of all mankind.

Svb.
What call you her, brother?

Mam.
My lord—
He wi'not haue his name knowne, now I thinke on't.

Svr.
A very trecherous memorie!

Mam.
O' my faith—

Svr.
Tut, if you ha'it not about you, passe it,
Till we meet next.

Mam.
Nay, by this hand, 'tis true.
Hee's one I honour, and my noble friend,
And I respect his house.

Svr.
Hart! can it be,
That a graue sir, a rich, that has no need,
A wise sir, too, at other times, should thus
With his owne oathes, and arguments, make hard meanes
To gull himselfe? And, this be your elixir,
Your lapis mineralis, and your lunarie,
Giue me your honest trick, yet, at primero,
Or gleeke; and take your lutum sapientis,
Your menstruum simplex: I'll haue gold, before you,
And, with lesse danger of the quick-siluer;
Or the hot sulphur.

Fac.
Here's one from Captaine Face, sir,
To Surly.
Desires you meet him i'the Temple-church,
Some halfe houre hence, and vpon earnest businesse.
Sir, if you please to quit vs, now; and come,
He whispers Mammon.
Againe, within two houres: you shall haue
My master busie examining o' the workes;
And I will steale you in, vnto the partie,
That you may see her conuerse. Sir, shall I say,
You'll meet the Captaines worship?

Svr.
Sir, I will.
But, by attorney, and to a second purpose.
Now, I am sure, it is a bawdy-house;
I'll sweare it, were the Marshall here, to thanke me:
The naming this Commander, doth confirme it.
Don Face! Why, h'is the most autentique dealer
I'these commodities! The Superintendent
To all, the queinter traffiquers, in towne.
He is their Visiter, and do's appoint
Who lyes with whom; and at what houre; what price;
Which gowne; and in what smock; what fall; what tyre.
Him, will I proue, by a third person, to find
The subtilties of this darke labyrinth:
Which, if I doe discouer, deare sir Mammon,
You'll giue your poore friend leaue, though no Philosopher,
To laugh: for you that are, 'tis thought, shall weepe.

Fac.
Sir. He do's pray, you'll not forget.

Svr.
I will not, sir.
Sir Epicvre, I shall leaue you?

Mam.
I follow you, streight.

Fac.
But doe so, good sir, to auoid suspicion.
This gent'man has a par'lous head.

Mam.
But wilt thou, Ulen,
Be constant to thy promise?

Fac.
As my life, sir.

Mam.
And wilt thou insinuate what I am? and praise me?
And say I am a noble fellow?

Fac.
O, what else, sir?
And, that you'll make her royall, with the stone,
An Empresse; and your selfe king of Bantam.

Mam.
Wilt thou doe this?

Fac.
Will I, sir?

Mam.
Lungs, my Lungs!
I loue thee.

Fac.
Send your stuffe, sir, that my master
May busie himselfe, about proiection.

Mam.
Th'hast witch'd me, rogue: Take, goe.

Fac.
Your iack, & all, sir.

Mam.
Thou art a villaine—I will send my iack;
And the weights too. Slaue, I could bite thine eare.
Away, thou dost not care for me.

Fac.
Not I, sir?

Mam.
Come, I was borne to make thee, my good weasell;
Set thee on a bench: and, ha' thee twirle a chaine
With the best lords vermine, of 'hem all.

Fac.
Away, sir.

Mam.
A Count, nay, a Count-palatine—

Fac.
Good sir, goe.

Mam.
Shall not aduance thee, better: no, nor faster.

Scene IIII.

Svbtle
, Face, Dol.
Has he bit? Has he bit?

Fac.
And swallow'd too, my Svbtle.
I ha' giu'n him line, and now he playes, I faith.

Svb.
And shall we twitch him?

Fac.
Thorough both the gills.
A wench is a rare bait, with which a man
No sooner's taken, but he straight firkes mad.

Svb.
Dol, my lord Wha't s'hvms sister, you must now
Beare your selfe statelich.

Dol.
O, let me alone.
I'll not forget my race, I warrant you.
I'll keepe my distance, laugh, and talke aloud;
Haue all the tricks of a proud sciruy ladie,
And be as rude'as her woman.

Fac.
Well said, Sanguine.

Svb.
But will he send his andirons?

Fac.
His iack too;
And's iron shooing-horne: I ha'spoke to him. Well,
I must not loose my wary gamster, yonder.

Svb.
O Monsieur Caution, that will not be gull'd?

Fac.
I, if I can strike a fine hooke into him, now,
The Temple-church, there I haue cast mine angle.
Well, pray for me. I'll about it.

Svb.
What, more gudgeons!
One knocks.
Dol, scout, scout; stay Face, you must goe to the dore:
'Pray god, it be my Anabaptist. Who is't, Dol?

Dol.
I know him not. He lookes like a gold-end-man.

Svb.
Gods so! 'tis he, he said he would send. What call you him?
The sanctified Elder, that should deale
For Mammons iack, and andirons! Let him in.
Stay, helpe me of, first, with my gowne. Away
Ma-dame, to your with-drawing chamber. Now,
In a new tune, new gesture, but old language.
This fellow is sent, from one negotiates with me
About the stone, too; for the holy Brethren
Of Amsterdam, the exil'd Saints: that hope
To raise their discipline, by it. I must vse him
In some strange fashion, now, to make him admire me.

Scene V.

Svbtle
, Face, Ananias.
VVhere is my drudge?

Fac.
Sir.

Svb.
Take away the recipient,
And rectifie your menstrue, from the phlegma.
Then powre it, o'the Sol, in the cucurbite,
And let'hem macerate, together.

Fac.
Yes, sir.
And saue the ground?

Svb.
No. Terra damnata
Must not haue entrance, in the worke. Who are you?

Ana.
A faithfull Brother, if it please you.

Svb.
What's that?
A Lullianist? a Ripley? Filius artis?
Can you sublime, and dulcefie? calcine?
Know you the sapor pontick? sapor stipstick?
Or, what is homogene, or heterogene?

Ana.
I vnderstand no heathen language, truely.

Svb.
Heathen, you Knipper-Doling? Is Ars sacra,
Or Chrysopœia, or Spagirica,
Or the pamphysick, or panarchick knowledge,
A heathen language?

Ana.
Heathen Greeke, I take it.

Svb.
How? heathen Greeke?

Ana.
All's heathen, but the Hebrew.

Svb.
Sirah, my varlet, stand you forth, and speake to him
Like a Philosopher: Answere, i'the language.
Name the vexations, and the martyrizations
Of mettalls, in the worke.

Fac.
Sir, Putrefaction,
Solution, Ablution, Sublimation,
Cohobation, Calcination, Ceration, and
Fixation.

Svb.
This is heathen Greeke, to you, now?
And when comes Viuification?

Fac.
After Mortification.

Svb.
What's Cohobation?

Fac.
'Tis the powring on
Your Aqua Regis, and then drawing him off,
To the trine circle of the seuen spheares.

Svb.
What's the proper passion of mettalls?

Fac.
Malleation.

Svb.
What's your vltimum supplicium auri?

Fac.
Antimonium.

Svb.
This's heathen Greeke, to you? And, what's your Mercury?

Fac.
A very fugitiue, he will be gone, sir.

Svb.
How know you him?

Fac.
By his viscositie,
His olcositie, and his suscitabilitie.

Svb.
How doe you sublime him?

Fac.
With the calce of egge-shels,
White marble, talck.

Svb.
Your magisterium, now?
What's that?

Fac.
Shifting, sir, your elements,
Drie into cold, cold into moist, moist in-
to hot, hot into drie.

Svb.
This's heathen Greeke to you, still?
Your lapis philosophicus?

Fac.
'Tis a stone, and not
A stone; a spirit, a soule, and a body:
Which, if you doe dissolue, it is dissolu'd,
If you coagulate, it is coagulated,
If you make it to flye, it flyeth.

Svb.
Inough.
This's heathen Greeke, to you? What are you, sir?

Ana.
Please you, a seruant of the exil'd Brethren,
That deale with widdowes, and with orphanes goods;
And make a iust account, vnto the Saints:
A Deacon.

Svb.
O, you are sent from master Wholsome,
Your teacher?

Ana.
From Tribvlation Wholsome,
Our very zealous Pastor.

Svb.
Good. I haue
Some orphanes goods to come here.

Ana.
Of what kind, sir?

Svb.
Pewter, and brasse, andirons, and kitchin ware,
Mettalls, that we must vse our med'cine on:
Wherein the Brethren may haue a penn'orth.
For readie money.

Ana.
Were the orphanes parents
Sincere professors?

Svb.
Why doe you aske?

Ana.
Because
We then are to deale iustly, and giue (in truth)
Their vtmost valew.

Svb.
'Slid, you'ld cossen, else,
And, if their parents were not of the faithfull?
I will not trust you, now I thinke on't,
Till I ha' talk'd with your Pastor. Ha' you brought money
To buy more coales?

Ana.
No, surely.

Svb.
No? How so?

Ana.
The Brethren bid me say vnto you, sir.
Surely, they will not venter any more,
Till they may see proiection.

Svb.
How!

Ana.
Yo'haue had,
For the instruments, as bricks, and lome, and glasses,
Alreadie thirtie pound; and, for materialls,
They say, some ninetie more: And, they haue heard, since,
That one, at Heidelberg, made it, of an egge,
And a small paper of pin-dust.

Svb.
What's your name?

Ana.
My name is Ananias.

Svb.
Out, the varlet
That cossend the Apostles! Hence, away,
Flee Mischiefe; had your holy Consistorie
No name to send me, of another sound;
Then wicked Ananias? Send your Elders,
Hither, to make atonement for you, quickly.
And gi' me satisfaction; or out-goes
The fire: and downe th'alembekes, and the fornace.
Piger Henricus, or what not. Thou wretch,
Both Sericon, and Bufo, shall be lost,
Tell 'hem. All hope of rooting out the Bishops,
Or th'Antichristian Hierarchie shall perish,
If they stay threescore minutes. The Aqueitie,
Terreitie, and Sulphureitie
Shall runne together againe, and all be annull'd
Thou wicked Ananias. This will fetch 'hem,
And make 'hem hast towards their gulling more.
A man must deale like a rough nurse, and fright
Those, that are froward, to an appetite.

Scene VI.

Face
, Svbtle, Drvgger.
H'is busie with his spirits, but wee'll vpon him.

Svb.
How now! What mates? What Baiards ha' wee here?

Fac.
I told you, he would be furious. Sir, here's Nab,
Has brought yo' another piece of gold, to looke on:
(We must appease him. Giue it me) and prayes you,
You would deuise (what is it Nab?)

Drv.
A signe, sir.

Fac.
I, a good lucky one, a thriuing signe, Doctor.

Svb.
I was deuising now.

Fac.
('Slight, doe not say so,
He will repent he ga' you anymore.)
What say you to his constellation, Doctor?
The Ballance?

Svb.
No, that way is stale, and common.
A townes-man, borne in Taurus, giues the bull;
Or the bulls-head: In Aries, the ram.
A poore deuice. No, I will haue his name
Form'd in some mystick character; whose radij,
Striking the senses of the passers by,
Shall, by a vertuall influence, breed affections,
That may result vpon the partie ownes it:
As thus—

Fac.
Nab!

Svb.
He first shall haue a bell, that's Abel;
And, by it, standing one, whose name is Dee,
In a rugg gowne; there's D. and Rug, that's Drvg:
And, right anenst him, a Dog snarling Er;
There's Drvgger, Abel Drvgger. That's his signe.
And here's now mysterie, and hieroglyphick!

Fac.
Abel, thou art made.

Drv.
Sir, I doe thanke his worship.

Fac.
Sixe o'thy legs more, will not doe it, Nab.
He has brought you a pipe of tabacco, Doctor.

Drv.
Yes, sir:
I haue another thing, I would impart—

Fac.
Out with it, Nab.

Drv.
Sir, there is lodg'd, hard by me,
A rich yong widdow—

Fac.
Good! a bona roba?

Drv.
But nineteene, at the most.

Fac.
Very good, Abel.

Drv.
Mary, sh'is not in fashion, yet; shee weares
A hood: but't stands a cop.

Fac.
No matter, Abel.

Drv.
And, I doe, now and then giue her a fucus—

Fac.
What! dost thou deale, Nab?

Svb.
I did tell you, Captaine.

Drv.
And physick too sometime, sir: for which shee trusts me
With all her mind. Shee's come vp here, of purpose
To learne the fashion.

Fac.
Good (his match too!) on, Nab.

Drv.
And shee do's strangely long to know her fortune.

Fac.
Gods lid, Nab, Send her to the Doctor, hether.

Drv.
Yes, I haue spoke to her of his worship, alreadie:
But shee's afraid, it will be blowne abroad
And hurt her marriage.

Fac.
Hurt it? 'Tis the way
To heale it, if 'twere hurt; to make it more
Follow'd, and sought: Nab, thou shalt tell her this.
Shee'll be more knowne, more talk'd of, and your widdowes
Are ne'er of any price till they be famous;
Their honour is their multitude of sutors:
Send her, it may be thy good fortune. What?
Thou dost not know.

Drv.
No, sir, shee'll neuer marry
Vnder a knight. Her brother has made a vow.

Fac.
What, and dost thou despaire, my little Nab,
Knowing, what the Doctor has set downe for thee,
And, seeing so many, o'the citie, dub'd?
One glasse o' thy water, with a Madame, I know,
Will haue it done, Nab. What's her brother? a knight?

Drv.
No, sir, a gentleman, newly warme in 'his land, sir,
Scarse cold in his one and twentie; that do's gouerne
His sister, here: and is a man himselfe
Of some three thousand a yeere, and is come vp
To learne to quarrell, and to liue by his wits,
And will goe downe againe, and dye i'the countrey.

Fac.
How! to quarrell?

Drv.
Yes, sir, to carry quarrells,
As gallants doe, and manage 'hem, by line.

Fac.
'Slid, Nab! The Doctor is the onely man
In Christendome for him. He has made a table,
With Mathematicall demonstrations,
Touching the Art of quarrells. He will giue him
An instrument to quarrell by. Goe, bring 'hem, both:
Him, and his sister. And, for thee, with her
The Doctor happ'ly may perswade. Goe to.
'Shalt giue his worship, a new damaske suite
Vpon the premisses.

Svb.
O, good Captaine.

Fac.
He shall,
He is the honestest fellow, Doctor. Stay not,
No offers, bring the damaske, and the parties.

Drv.
I'll trie my power, sir.

Fac.
And thy will too, Nab.

Svb.
'Tis good tabacco this! What is't an ounce?

Fac.
He'll send you a pound, Doctor.

Svb.
O, no.

Fac.
He will do't.
It is the gooddest soule. Abel, about it.
(Thou shalt know more anone. Away, be gone.)
A miserable rogue, and liues with cheese,
And has the wormes. That was the cause indeed
Why he came now. He dealt with me, in priuate,
To get a med'cine for'hem.

Svb.
And shall, sir. This workes.

Fac.
A wife, a wife, for one on'vs, my deare Svbtle:
Wee'll eene draw lots, and he, that failes, shall haue
The more in goods, the other has in taile.

Svb.
Rather the lesse. For shee may be so light
Shee may want graines.

Fac.
I, or be such a burden,
A man would scarse endure her, for the whole.

Svb.
Faith, best let's see her first, and then determine.

Fac.
Content. But Dol must ha' no breath on't.

Svb.
Mum.
Away, you to your Svrly yonder, catch him.

Fac.
'Pray god, I ha' not stai'd too long.

Svb.
I feare it.