University of Virginia Library

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?