 | The Alchemist |  |
Scene III.
Svrly, Mammon, Love-Wit, Face, Neighbovrs, Kastril, Ananias, Tribvlation, Dapper, Svbtle.
No, sir, he was a great physitian. This,
It was no bawdy-house: but a meere Chancell.
You knew the lord, and his sister.
Mam.
Nay, good Svrly—
Svr.
The happy word, be rich—
Mam.
Play not the tyranne—
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Should be to day pronounc'd, to all your friends.
And where be your andirons now? and your brasse pots?
That should ha' beene golden flaggons, and great wedges?
Mam.
Let me but breath. What! They ha' shut their dores,
Mammon and Surly knock.
Methinks!
Svr.
I, now, 'tis holy-day with them.
Mam.
Rogues,
Coseners, impostors, bawds.
Fac.
What meane you, sir?
Mam.
To enter if we can.
Fac.
Another mans house?
Here is the owner, sir. Turne you to him,
And speake your businesse.
Mam.
Are you, sir, the owner?
Lov.
Yes, sir.
Mam.
And are those knaues, within, your cheaters?
Lov.
What knaues? what cheaters?
Mam.
Svbtle, and his Lungs.
Fac.
The gentleman is distracted, sir! No lungs,
Nor lights ha' beene seene here these three weekes, sir,
Within these dores, vpon my word!
Svr.
Your word,
Groome arrogant?
Fac.
Yes, sir, I am the house-keeper,
And know the keyes ha' not beene out o' my hands.
Svr.
This's a new Face?
Fac.
You doe mistake the house, sir!
What signe was't at?
Svr.
You raskall! This is one
O' the confederacie. Come, let's get officers,
And force the dore.
Lov.
'Pray you stay, gentlemen.
Svr.
No, sir, wee'll come with warrant.
Mam.
I, and then,
We shall ha' your dores open.
Lov.
What meanes this?
Fac.
I cannot tell, sir!
Nei. 1.
These are two o'the gallants,
That we doe thinke we saw.
Fac.
Two o'the fooles?
You talke as idly as they. Good faith, sir,
I thinke the Moone has cras'd 'hem all! (O me,
The angrie Boy come too? Hee'll make a noyse,
And nere away till he haue betray'd vs all.)
Kastrill knocks.
Kas.
What rogues, bawds, slaues, you'll open the dore anone,
Punque, cocatrice, my suster. By this light
I'll fetch the marshall to you. You are a whore,
To keepe your castle—
Fac.
Who would you speake with, sir?
Kas.
The bawdy Doctor, and the cosening Captaine,
And Pvs my suster.
Lov.
This is something, sure!
Fac.
Vpon my trust, the dores were neuer open, sir.
Kas.
I haue heard all their tricks, told me twice ouer,
By the fat knight, and the leane gentleman.
Lov.
Here comes another.
Fac.
Ananias too?
And his Pastor?
Tri.
The dores are shut against vs.
They beat too, at the dore.
Ana.
Come forth, you seed of sulphure, sonnes of sire,
Your stench, it is broke forth: abomination
Is in the house.
Kas.
I, my suster's there.
Ana.
The place,
It is become a cage of vncleane birds.
Kas.
Yes, I will fetch the scauenger, and the constable.
Tri.
You shall doe well.
Ana.
Wee'll ioyne, to weede them out.
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You will not come then? punque, deuice, my suster!
Ana.
Call her not sister. Shee is a harlot, verily.
Kas.
I'll raise the street.
Lov.
Good gentlemen, a word.
Ana.
Sathan, auoid, and hinder not our zeale.
Lov.
The world's turn'd Bet'lem.
Fac.
These are all broke loose,
Out of S. Kather'nes, where they vse to keepe,
The better sort of mad-folkes.
Nei. 1.
All these persons
We saw goe in, and out, here.
Nei. 2.
Yes, indeed, sir.
Nei. 3.
These were the parties.
Fac.
Peace, you drunkards. Sir,
I wonder at it! Please you, to giue me leaue
To touch the dore, I'll trie, an' the lock be chang'd.
Lov.
It mazes me!
Fac.
Good faith, sir, I beleeue,
There's no such thing. 'Tis all deceptio visus.
Would I could get him away.
Dap.
Master Captayne, master Doctor.
Dapper cryes out within.
Lov.
Who's that?
Fac.
(Our clark within, that I forgot!) I know not, sir.
Dap.
For gods sake, when wil her Grace be at leisure?
Fac.
Ha!
Illusions, some spirit o'the aire: (his gag is melted,
And now he sets out the throte.)
Dap.
I am almost stiffled—
Fac.
(Would you were altogether.)
Lov.
'Tis i'the house.
Ha! List.
Fac.
Beleeue it, sir, i'the aire!
Lov.
Peace, you—
Dap.
Mine aunts Grace do's not vse me well.
Svb.
You foole,
Peace, you'll marre all.
Fac.
Or you will else, you rogue.
Lov.
O, is it so? Then you conuerse with spirits!
Come sir. No more o' your tricks, good Ieremie,
The truth, the shortest way.
Fac.
Dismisse this rabble, sir.
What shall I doe? I am catch'd.
Lov.
Good neighbours,
I thanke you all. You may depart. Come sir,
You know that I am an indulgent master:
And therefore, conceale nothing. What's your med'cine,
To draw so many seuerall sorts of wild-fowle?
Fac.
Sir, you were wont to affect mirth, and wit:
(But here's no place to talke on't i'the street.)
Giue me but leaue, to make the best of my fortune,
And onely pardon me th'abuse of your house:
It's all I begge. I'll helpe you to a widdow,
In recompence, that you shall gi' me thankes for,
Will make you seuen yeeres yonger, and a rich one.
'Tis but your putting on a Spanish cloake,
I haue her within. You need not feare the house,
It was not visited.
Lov.
But by me, who came
Sooner then you expected.
Fac.
It is true, sir.
'Pray you forgiue me.
Lov.
Well: let's see your widdow.
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