University of Virginia Library

ACT. II.

Mammon and Surly.
Mammon.
Come on, Sir. Now you set your foot on shore
In novo orbe; here's the rich Peru:
And there within, Sir, are the golden mines,
Great Solomon's Ophir! He was sailing to't
Three years, but we have 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,
And have you punques, and punquetees, my Surly.
And unto thee, I speak it first, Be rich.—Face,
Where is my Subtle, there?—Within, ho!

Face.
[Within.]
Sir, he'll come to you, by and by.

Mam.
That's his fire-drake.
His lungs, his Zephirus, he that puffs his coals,
Till he firk Nature up in her own center.
You are doubtful, Sir. This night, I'll change
All that is metal, in my house, to gold.
And, early in the morning, will I send
To all the plumbers, and the pewterers,
And buy their tin, and lead up; and to Lothbury,
For all the copper.

Sur.
What, and turn that too?

Mam.
Yes, and I'll purchase Devonshire and Cornwall,
And make them perfect Indies! you admire now?

Sur.
No, faith.

Mam.
But when you see the effects of the great medicine,
You will believe me.

Sur.
Yes, when I see't, I will.

Mam.
Why?
Do you think, I sable with you? I assure you,
He that has once the Flower of the Sun,
The perfect ruby, which we call Elixir,
Not only can do that, but by its virtue,
Can confer honour, love, respect, long life,
Give safety, valour, yea, and victory.
To whom he will. In eight and twenty days,
I'll make an old man of fourscore a child.

Sur.
No doubt, he's that already.

Mam.
Nay, I mean,
Restore his years, renew him, like an eagle,
To the fifth age; make him get sons and daughters,
Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids.

Sur.
The decay'd vestals of Drury-Lane would thank you,
That keep the fire alive there.

Mam.
'Tis the secret
Of Nature, naturiz'd 'gainst all infections,
Cures all diseases coming of all causes;
A month's grief in a day; a year's in twelve:
And of what age soever, in a month.
Past all the doses of your drugging doctors.
You're still incredulous.

Sur.
Faith I have a humour,
I would not willingly be gull'd. Your Stone
Cannot transmute me.

Mam.
Surly,
Will you believe antiquity? Records?
I'll shew you a book, where Moses, and his sister,
And Solomon, have written of the art;
Ay, and a treatise penn'd by Adam.

Sur.
How!

Mam.
O' the Philosopher's Stone, and in High Dutch.

Sur.
Did Adam write, Sir, in High Dutch?

Mam.
He did.
Which proves it was the primitive tongue. How now?
Enter Face.
Do we succeed? Is our day come? and holds it?

Face.
The evening will set red upon you, Sir:
You have colour for it, crimson: the red ferment
Has done his office; three hours hence, prepare you
To see projection.

Mam.
My Surly,
Again, I say to thee, aloud, Be rich;
This day, thou shalt have ingots; and, to-morrow,
Give lords th'affront. Is it, my Zephirus, right?
Blushes the bolt's-head?

Face.
Like a wench with child, Sir,
That were, but now, discover'd to her master.

Mam.
Excellent witty, Lungs! My only care is,
Where to get stuff enough now, to project on.
This town will not half serve me.

Face.
No, Sir? Buy
The covering off o' churches.

Mam.
That's true.

Face.
Yes,
Let them stand bare, as do their auditory;
Or cap them new with shingles.

Mam.
No, good thatch:
Thatch will lie light upon the rafters, Lungs.
Lungs, I will manumit thee from the furnace;
I will restore thee thy complexion, Puffe,
Lost in the embers; and repair this brain,
Hurt wi' the fume o' the metals.

Face.
I have blown, Sir,
Hard for your worship; these blear'd eyes
Have wak'd, to read your several colours, Sir;
Of the pale citron, the green lion, the crow,
The peacock's tail, the plumed swan.

Mam.
And lastly,
Thou hast descry'd the flower.

Face.
Yes, Sir.

Mam.
Where's master?

Face.
At his prayers, Sir: he,
Good man, he's doing his devotions,
For the success.

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

Face.
Good, ‘Sir.

‘Mam.
But do you hear?
‘I'll geld you, Lungs.

‘Face.
Yes,’ Sir.

Mam.
For I do mean
To have a list of wives and concubines,
Equal with Solomon, who had the Stone
Alike with me: ‘and I will make me a back
‘With the Elixir, that shall be as tough
‘As Hercules, to encounter fifty a night.’
Th'art sure thou saw'st it, blood?

Face.
Both blood and spirit, Sir.

Mam.
I will have all my beds blown up; not stuff'd;
Down is too hard.
(Is it arriv'd at ruby?)—Where I spy
A wealthy citizen, or a rich lawyer,
Have a sublim'd pure wife, unto that fellow
I'll send a thousand pounds, to be my cuckold.

Face.
And shall I carry it?

Mam.
No, I'll have no bawds,
But fathers and mothers. They will do it best,
Best of all others. And my flatterers
Shall be the pure, and gravest of divines
That I can get for money. My meet fools,
Eloquent burgesses.
We will be brave, Puffe, now we have the med'cine.
My meat shall all come in, in Indian shells.
Dishes of agate set in gold, and studded
With emeralds, saphirs, hyacinths, and rubies.
My foot-boy shall eat pheasants, calver'd salmons,
Knots, godwits, lampreys: I myself will have
The beards of barbels serv'd instead of sallads;
Oil'd mushrooms, ‘and the swelling unctuous paps
‘Of a fat pregnant sow, newly cut off,’
Dress'd with an exquisite and poignant sauce;
For which, I'll say unto my cook, there's gold,
Go forth, and be a knight.

Face.
Sir, I'll go look
A little, how it heightens.

[Exit.
Mam.
Do. My shirts
I'll have of taffata-sarsnet, soft and light
As cob-webs, and for all my other rayment,
It shall be such as might provoke the Persian,
Were he to teach the world riot anew.
My gloves of fishes and birds-skins, perfum'd
With gums of Paradise, and eastern air—

Sur.
And do you think to have the Stone with this?

Mam.
No, I do think t'have all this with the Stone.

Sur.
Why, I have heard, he must be homo frugi,
A pious, holy, and religious man,
One free from mortal sin, a very virgin.

Mam.
That makes it, Sir, he is so. But I buy it.
My venture brings it me. He, honest wretch,
A notable, superstitious, good soul,
Has worn 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 poison.
Enter Subtle.
Good-morrow, father.

Sub.
Gentle son, good-morrow.
And to your friend there. What is he? is with you?

Mam.
An heretic that I did bring along,
In hope, Sir, to convert him.

Sub.
Son, I doubt
Yo'are covetous, that thus you meet your time
I' the just point: prevent your day, at morning,
This argues something, worthy of a fear
Of importune, and carnal appetite;
Take heed, do you not cause the blessing to leave you, it
With your ungovern'd haste. I should be sorry
To see my labours, now e'en at perfection,
Got by long watching, and large patience,
Not prosper, where my love and zeal hath placed them.
Which in all my ends,
Have look'd no way, but unto public good.
To pious uses, and dear charity,
Now grown a prodigy with men. Wherein
If you, my son, should now prevaricate,
And, to your own particular lusts, employ
So great and catholic a bliss, be sure,
A curse will follow, yea, and overtake
Your subtle and most secret ways.

Mam.
I know, Sir.
You shall not need to fear me. I but come,
To have you to confute this gentleman.

Sur.
Who is,
Indeed, Sir, somewhat costive of belief
Toward your Stone; would not be gull'd.

Sub.
Well, son,
All that I can convince him in, is this:
The work is done; bright Sol is in his robe.
We have a medicine of the triple soul,
Thanks be to Heaven,
And make us worthy of it. Ulen Spigel!

Face.
[Within.]
Anon, Sir.

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

‘Face.
Yes, Sir.

‘Sub.
Did you look
‘O'the Bolt's head yet?

‘Face.
Which, on D, Sir?

‘Sub.
Ay.
‘What's the complexion?

‘Face.
Whitish.

‘Sub.
Infuse vinegar
‘To draw his volatile substance, and his tincture;
‘And let the water in glass E. be filter'd,
‘And put into the Gripe's egg.’ Lute him well;
And leave him clos'd in balneo;
And bring me the complexion of glass B.

Face.
I will, Sir.
[Exit Face.

Sur.
What a brave language here is! next to canting!

Sub.
I have another work, you never saw, son,
That three days since pass'd the philosopher's wheel,
In the lent heat of Athanor; and is become
Sulphur of Nature.

Mam.
But 'tis for me?

Sub.
What need you?
You have enough, in that is perfect.

Mam.
Oh, but—

Sub.
Why, this is covetous!

Mam.
No, I assure you,
I shall employ it all in pious uses,
Founding of colleges and grammar schools,
Marrying young virgins, building hospitals,
And now and then a church.

Enter Face.
‘Sub.
How now?

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

‘Sub.
Marry, yes,
‘And bring me the complexion of glass B.

[Exit Face.
‘Mam.
Have you another?

‘Sub.
Yes, son, were I assur'd
‘Your piety were firm, we would not want
‘The means to glorify it. But I hope the best:
‘I mean to tinct C. in sand-heat, to-morrow,
‘And give him imbition.

‘Mam.
Of white oil?

‘Sub.
No, Sir, of red. F is come over the helm too,
‘In St. Mary's Bath, and shews lac virginis.
‘I sent you of his fæces there calcin'd.
‘Out of that calx, I have won the salt of mercury.

‘Mam.
By pouring on your rectified water?’

Sub.
‘Yes, and reverberating in Athanor.’
How now? What colour says it?

Enter Face.
Face.
The ground black, Sir.

Mam.
That's your crow's head?

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

Sub.
No, 'tis not perfect, would it were the crow.
That work wants something.

Sur.
Oh, I look'd for this.
The hay's a pitching.

Sub.
Are you sure, you loosed them
In their own menstrue?

Face.
Yes, Sir, and then married them,
And put them in a bolt's head, nipp'd to digestion,
According as you bade me, when I set
The liquor of Mars to circulation,
In the same heat.

Sub.
The process then was right.

Face.
Yes, by the token, Sir, the retort brake,
And what was sav'd was put into the pellicane,
And sign'd with Hermes' seal.

Sub.
I think 'twas so.
We should have a new amalgama.

Sur.
Oh, this ferret
Is rank as any pole-cat.

Sub.
But I care not.
Let him e'en die; ‘we have enough beside,
‘In embrion. H has his white shirt on?

‘Face.
Yes, Sir.
‘He's ripe for inceration: he stands warm
‘In his ash fire.’ I would not, you should let
Any die now, if I might counsel, Sir,
For luck's sake to the rest. It is not good.

Mam.
He says right.

Sur.
Ay, are you bolted?

Face.
Nay, I know't, Sir,
I have seen th'ill fortune. What is some three ounces
Of fresh materials?

Mam.
Is't no more?

Face.
No more, Sir,
Of gold, t'amalgame, with some six of mercury.

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

Face.
Ask him, Sir.

Mam.
How much?

Sub.
Give him nine pounds: you may give him ten.

Sur.
Yes. Twenty, and be cozened, do.

Mam.
There 'tis.

Sub.
This needs not. But that you will have it so,
To see conclusions of all, ‘for two
‘O'four inferior works are at fixation,
‘A third is in ascension.’ Go your ways.
Have you set the oil of Luna in Kemia?

Face.
Yes, Sir.

Sub.
And the philosopher's vinegar?

Face.
Ay.

[Exit.
Sur.
We shall have a sallad.

Mam.
When do you make projection?

Sub.
Son, be not hasty. I exalt our med'cine,
By hanging him in balneo vaporaso,
And giving him solution, then congeal him,
And then dissolve him, then again congeal him:
For look, how oft I iterate the work,
So many times I add unto his virtue.
Get you your stuff here against afternoon,
Your brass, your pewter, and your andirons.

Mam.
Not those of iron?

Sub.
Yes, you may bring them too.
We'll change all metals.

Sur.
I believe you in that.

Mam.
Then I may send my spits?

Sub.
Yes, and your racks.

Sur.
And dripping-pans, and pot-hangers, and hooks
Shall he not?

Sub.
If he please.

Sur.
To be an ass.

Sub.
How, Sir!

Mam.
This gent'man you must bear withal!
I told you, he had no faith.

Sur.
And little hope, Sir;
But much less charity, should I gull myself.

Sub.
Why, what have you observ'd, Sir, in our art,
Seems so impossible?

Sur.
But your whole work, no more.
That you should hatch gold in a furnace, Sir,
As they do eggs in Egypt!

Sub.
Sir, do you
Believe that eggs are hatched so?

Sur.
If I should?

Sub.
Why I think that the greater miracle.
No egg but differs from a chicken more
Than metals in themselves.

Sur.
That cannot be.
The egg's ordained by Nature to that end,
And is a chicken in potentia.

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

Mam.
And that
Our art doth further.

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

Sur.
Ay, what is that?

Enter Doll.
Sub.
Marry, we say—
God's precious—What do you mean? Go in, good lady,
Let me intreat you.—Where's this varlet?

Enter Face.
Face.
Sir?

Sub.
You very knave! Do you use me thus?

Face.
Wherein, Sir?

Sub.
Go in, and see, you traitor. Go.

[Exit Face.
Mam.
Who is it, Sir?

Sub.
Nothing, Sir. Nothing.

Mam.
What's the matter, good Sir?
I have not seen you thus distemper'd? Who is't?

Sub.
All arts have still had, Sir, their adversaries;
But ours the most ignorant. What now?

[Face returns.
Face.
'Twas not my fault, Sir; she would speak with you.

Sub.
Would she, Sir? Follow me.
[Exit Sub.

Mam.
Stay, Lungs.

Face.
I dare not, Sir.

Mam.
How! Pray thee stay.

Face.
She's mad, Sir, and sent hither—

Mam.
Stay, man, what is she?

Face.
A lord's sister, Sir.
He'll be mad too.

Mam.
I warrant thee.
Why sent hither?

Face.
Sir, to be cur'd.

Sur.
Why rascal?

Face.
Lo you. Here, Sir.

[He goes out.
Mam.
'Fore heaven, a bradamante, a brave piece.

Sur.
Heart, this is a bawdy house! I'll be burnt else.

Mam.
Oh, by this light, no do not wrong him. He's
Too scrupulous that way. It is his vice.
No, he's a rare physician, do him right,
An excellent Paracelsian, and has done
Strange cure with mineral physick. He deals all
With spirits, he. He will not hear a word
Of Galen or his tedious recipe's.
Enter Face.
How now, Lungs!

Face.
Softly, Sir, speak softly. I meant
To have told your worship all. This must not hear.

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

Face.
Y'are very right, Sir, she is a most rare scholar,
And is gone mad with studying Broughton's works.
If you but name a word touching the Hebrew,
She falls into her fit, and will discourse
So learnedly of genealogies,
As you would run mad too, to hear her, Sir.

Mam.
How might one do t'have conference with her, Lungs?

Face.
Oh, divers have run mad upon the conference.
I do not know, Sir: I am sent in haste,
To fetch a viol.

[Exit.
Sur.
Be not gull'd, Sir Mammon.

Mam.
Wherein? Pray ye, be patient.

Sur.
Yes, as you are,
And trust confederate knaves, and bawds, and whores.

Mam.
You are too foul, believe it.
Enter Face.
Come here, Ulen, one word.

Face.
I dare not, in good faith.

Mam.
Stay, knave.

Face.
He is extreme angry that you saw her, Sir.

Mam.
Drink that. [Gives him money.]
What is she when she's out of her fit?

Face.
Oh, the most affablest creature, Sir! so merry!
So pleasant! she'll mount you up, like quick-silver,
Over the helm; and circulate, like oil,
A very vegetal: discourse of state,
Of mathematics, bawdry, any thing—

Mam.
Is she no ways accessible? No means,
No trick to give a man a taste of her—wit—
Or so?

[Sub.
within.]
Ulen.

Face.
I'll come to you again, Sir.

[Exit.
Mam.
Surly, I did not think one of your breeding
Would traduce personages of worth.

Sur.
Sir Epicure,
Your friend to use: yet, still, loth to be gull'd.
I do not like your philosophical bawds.
Their Stone is enough to pay for,
Without this bait.

Mam.
'Heart, you abuse yourself.
I know the lady, and her friends, and means,
The original of this disaster. Her brother
Has told me all.

Sur.
And yet you never saw her
Till now?

Mam.
Oh, yes! but I forgot: I have, believe it,
One of the treacherousest memories, I do think,
Of all mankind.

Sur.
What call you her brother?

Mam.
My Lord—
He will not have his name known, now I think on't.

Sur.
A very treacherous memory!

Mam.
O' my faith!

Sur.
Tut, if you ha' it not about you, pass it,
Till we meet next.

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

Sur.
Heart! can it be,
That a grave Sir, a rich, that has no need,
A wise Sir, too, at other times, should thus,
With his own oaths and arguments, make hard means
To gull himself? ‘An this be your elixir,
‘Your lapis mineralis, and your lunary,
‘Give me your honest trick yet at primero;
‘I'll have gold before you,
‘And with less danger of the quicksilver,
‘Or the hot sulphur.’

Enter Face.
Face.
Here's one from Captain Face, Sir,
[To Surly.
Desires you to meet him i' the Temple Church,
Some half hour hence, and upon earnest business.
Sir, if you please to quit us now, and come
[He whispers Mammon.
Again within two hours, you shall have
My master busy examining o'the works;
And I will steal you in unto the party,
That you may see her converse. Sir, shall I say
You'll meet the Captain's worship?

Sur.
Sir, I will.
[Exit Face.
Now, I am sure it is a bawdy-house;
‘I'll swear it, were the Marshal here to thank me:’
The naming this commander doth confirm it.
Don Face! why 'tis the most authentic dealer.
I' these commodities—The superintendant
To all the quainter traffickers in town.
Him will I prove, by a third person, to find
The subtleties of this dark labyrinth;
Which, if I do discover, dear Sir Mammon,
You'll give your poor friend leave, tho' no philosopher,
To laugh; for you that are, 'tis thought, shall weep.

Enter Face.
Face.
Sir, he does pray, you'll not forget.

Sur.
I will not, Sir.
Sir Epicure, I shall leave you.

[Exit.
Mam.
I follow you, straight.

Face.
But do so, good Sir, to avoid suspicion:
This gent'man has a parlous head.’

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

Face.
As my life, Sir.

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

Face.
Oh, what else, Sir?
And that you'll make her royal, with the Stone,
An empress, and yourself King of Bantam.

Mam.
Wilt thou do this?

Face.
Will I, Sir!

Mam.
Lungs, my Lungs!
I love thee.

Face.
Send your stuff, Sir, that my master
May busy himself about projection.

Mam.
Th'hast witch'd me, rogue! Take, go.

Face.
Your jack and all, Sir.

Mam.
Thou art a villain—I will send my jack,
And the weights too. ‘Slave, I could bite thine ear.’
Away; thou dost not care for me.

Face.
Not I, Sir.

Mam.
Come, I was born to make thee, my good weasel;
Set thee on a bench, and ha' thee twirl a chain
With the best lord's vermin of them all.

Face.
Away, Sir.

Mam.
A count, nay, a count-palatine—

Face.
Good Sir, go.

Mam.
Shall not advance thee better; no, nor faster.
[Exit Mam.

Enter Subtle and Dol.
Sub.
Has he bit? Has he bit?

Face.
And swallow'd too, my Subtle.
I ha' given him line, and now he plays, i'faith.

Sub.
And shall we twitch him?

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

Sub.
Dol, my Lord What's 'hum's sister, you must now
Bear yourself statelich.

Dol.
Oh, let me alone.
I'll not forget my race, I warrant you.
I'll keep my distance, laugh, and talk aloud:
Have all the tricks of a proud scurvy lady,
And be as rude as her woman.

Face.
Well said, Sanguine.

Sub.
But will he send his andirons?

Face.
His jack too;
And's iron shoeing-horn: I ha' spoken to him. Well,
I must not lose my wary gamester, yonder.

Sub.
Oh, Monsieur Caution, that will not be gull'd?

Face.
Ay; if I can strike a fine hook into him, now.
The Temple-church, there I have cast mine angle.
Well, pray for me; I'll about it.

[One knocks.
Sub.
What, more gudgeons?
Dol, scout, scout; stay, Face, you must go to the door.
[Exit Face.
Pray Heaven it be my Anabaptist. Who is't, Dol?

Dol.
I know him not. He looks like an end of gold and silver-man.

Sub.
God's-so! 'tis he; he said he would send
What call you him?
The sanctified elder, that should deal
For Mammon's jack and andirons—Let him in. Stay,
And help me off with my gown—Away,
Madam, to your withdrawing chamber. Now,
[Exit Dol.
In a new tune, new gesture, but old language.
This fellow is sent from one negociates 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 use him
‘In some strange fashion now, to make him admire me.’
Enter Face and Ananias.
Where is my drudge?

Face.
Sir.

Sub.
Take away the recipient,
And rectify your menstrue from the phlegma.
Then pour it o' the sol, in the cucurbite,
And let them macerate together.

Face.
Yes, Sir;
And save the ground?

Sub.
No; terra damnata
Must not have entrance in the work.
[Exit Face.
Who are you?

[To Ananias.
Ana.
A faithful brother, if it please you.

Sub.
What's that?
‘A Lullianist, a Ripley, filius artis?
‘Can you sublime and dulcify? Calcine?
‘Know you the sapor pontic? Sapor flyptic?’
Or what is homogene, or heterogene?

Ana.
I understand no heathen language, truly.

Sub.
Heathen, you knipper-doling! Is ars sacra,
‘Or chrysopeia, or spagyrica,
‘Or the pamphysick or panarchick knowledge,’
A heathen language?

Ana.
Heathen Greek, I take it.

Sub.
How, heathen Greek!

Ana.
All's heathen but the Hebrew.

Enter Face.
Sub.
Sirrah, my varlet, stand you forth, and speak to him
Like a philosopher: answer i'the language,
Name the vexations, and the martyrizations
Of metals in the work.

Face.
Sir, putrefaction,
Solution, ablution, sublimation,
Cohobation, calcination, ceration, and
Fixation.

‘Sub.
This is heathen Greek to you now.
‘And whence comes vivification?

‘Face.
After mortification.

‘Sub.
What's cohobation?

‘Face.
'Tis the pouring on
‘Your aqua regis, and then drawing him off,
‘To the trine circle of the seven spheres.

‘Sub.
What's the proper passion of metals?

‘Face.
Malleation.

‘Sub.
What's your ultimum supplicium auri?

‘Face.
Antimonium.

‘Sub.
This is heathen Greek to you. And what's your mercury?

‘Face.
A very fugitive; he will begone, Sir.

‘Sub.
How know you him?

‘Face.
By his viscosity,
‘His oleosity, and his suscitability.

‘Sub.
How do you sublime him?

‘Face.
With the calce of egg shells.
‘White marble, talc.

‘Sub.
Your magisterium, now?
‘What's that?

‘Face.
Shifting, Sir, your elements,
‘Dry into cold, cold into moist, moist into hot, hot into dry.’

Ana.
Oh, Oh!—

Sub.
This is heathen Greek to you still. What is
Your lapis philosophicus?

Face.
'Tis a stone, and not
A stone; a spirit, a soul, and a body;
Which if you do dissolve, it is dissolved;
If you coagulate, it is coagulated;
If you make it to fly, it flieth.

Sub.
Enough.
[Exit Face.
This is heathen Greek to you—
What are you, Sir?

Ana.
Please you, a servant of the exil'd brethren,
That deal with widows and with orphans' goods,
And make a just account unto the saints;
A deacon.

Sub.
Oh, you are sent from Master Wholsome,
Your teacher?

Ana.
From Tribulation Wholsome,
Our very zealous pastor.

Sub.
Good. I have
Some orphans' goods to come here.

Ana.
Of what kind, Sir?

Sub.
Pewter and brass, andirons, and kitchen-ware;
Metals that we must use our med'cine on;
Wherein the brethren may have a penn'orth,
For ready money.

‘Ana.
Were the orphans' parents
‘Sincere professors?

‘Sub.
Why do you ask?

‘Ana.
Because
‘We then are to deal justly, and give (in truth)
‘Their utmost value.

‘Sub.
'Slid, you'ld cozen else,
‘An if their parents were not of the faithful.
‘I will not trust you, now I think on't,
‘'Till I ha' talk'd with your pastor.’ Ha' you brought money
To buy more coals?

Ana.
No, surely.

Sub.
No! How so?

Ana.
The brethren bid me say unto you, Sir,
Surely, they will not venture any more,
'Till they may see projection.

Sub.
How!

Ana.
You have had
For the instrments, as bricks, and loam, and glasses,
Already thirty pounds; and for materials,
They say, some ninety more: and they have heard since,
That one at Heidelberg, made it of an egg,
And a small paper of pin dust.

Sub.
What's your name?

Ana.
My name is Ananias.

Sub.
Out, the varlet
That cozen'd the apostles! Hence, away,
Flee, mischief! Had your holy consistory
No name to send me of another sound
Than wicked Ananias? Send your elders
Hither, to make atonement for you, quickly,
And gi' me satisfaction; or out goes
The fire, and down th'alembicks, and the furnace,
‘Piger Henricus, or what not. Thou wretch,
‘Both Sericon and Buso shall be lost,
‘Tell 'em. All hope of rooting out the bishops,
‘Or th'antichristian hierarchy, shall perish.’
If they stay threescore minutes. The aqueity,
Tereity, and sulphureity,
Shall run together again, and all be annull'd,
Thou wicked Ananias.
[Exit Ananias.
This will fetch 'em,
And make 'em haste towards their gulling more.
A man must deal like a rough nurse, and fright
Those that are froward to an appetite.

Enter Face and Drugger.
Face.
H'is busy with his spirits; but we'll upon him.

Drug.
Where are they?

Face.
Hush!

Sub.
How now? What mates, what baiards ha'we here?

Face.
I told you, he would be furious. Sir, here's Nab,
Has brought y' another piece of gold to look on.
(We must appease him. Give it me) and prays you,
You would devise—What is it, Nab?

Drug.
A sign, Sir.

Face.
Ay, a good lucky one; a thriving sign, Doctor.

Sub.
I was devising now.

Face.
'Slight, do not say so;
He will repent he gave you any more.
[Aside to Sub.
What say you to his constellation, Doctor?
The Balance?

Sub.
No, that way is stale and common.
A townsman, born in Taurus, gives the bull,
Or the bull's head. In Aries, the ram;
A poor device. Come hither, Abel.
No, I will have his name
Form'd in some mystic character, whose radii,
Striking the senses of the passers-by,
Shall, by a virtual influence, breed affections,
That may result upon the party owns it:
As thus—

Drug.
I don't understand it.

Face.
Nab!

Sub.
He shall have a bell, that's Abel.

Drug.
And so it is.

Sub.
And by it standing one whose name is Dee,
In a rug gown; there's D, and Rug, that's Drug;
And right anenst him a dog snarling er;
There's Drugger, Abel Drugger.

Drug.
My name!

Sub.
That's his sign.
And here's now mystery and hieroglyphic!

Face.
Abel, thou art made.

Drug.
I do thank his worship.

Face.
Six o' thy legs more will not do it, Nab.
What'st got there, Nab?

Drug.
A pipe of tobacco.

Face.
A pipe of tobacco! Give it me.
He has brought you a pipe of tobacco, Doctor.

Drug.
Yes, Sir—Captain Face, Captain Face, your worship.

Face.
What dost say, Nab?

Drug.
I have another thing I would impart—

Face.
Out with it, Nab.

Drug.
Sir, there is lodg'd hard by me,
A rich young widow—

Face.
Good; a bona roba!

Drug.
But nineteen at the most.

Face.
Very good, Abel.

Drug.
Marry, sh' is not in fashion yet; she wears
A hood; but 't stands acop.

Face.
No matter, Abel.

Drug.
And I do now and then give her a fucus.—

Face.
What! dost deal, Nab?

Sub.
I did tell you, Captain.

Drug.
And physic too, sometimes, Sir; for which she trusts me
With all her mind. She's come up here of purpose
To learn the fashion.

Face.
Good; on, Nab.

Drug.
And she does strangely long to know her fortune.

Face.
God'slid, Nab, send her to the Doctor hither.

Drug.
Yes, I have spoke to her of his worship already:
But she's afraid it will be blown abroad,
And hurt her marriage.

Face.
Hurt it! 'Tis the way
To heal it, if 'twere hurt; to make it more
Follow'd and sought. Nab, thou shalt tell her this:
She'll be more known, more talk'd of; and your widows
Are ne'er of any price till they be famous.
Their honour is the multitude of suitors.
Send her, it may be thy good fortune. What,
Thou dost not know?

Drug.
No, Sir, she'll never marry
Under a knight. Her brother has made a vow.

Face.
What, and dost thou despair, my little Nab,
Knowing what the Doctor has set down for thee,
And seeing so many of the city dubb'd?
‘One glass o' thy water, with a Madam, I know
‘Will have it done,’ Nab. What's her brother? A knight?

Drug.
No, Sir, a gentleman, newly warm in his land, Sir.
Scarce cold in his one-and-twenty,that does govern
His sister here, and is a man himself
Of some three thousand a year, and is come up
To learn to quarrel, and to live by his wits,
And will go down again, and die i' the country,
When he can't live any longer here.

Face.
How! to quarrel?

Drug.
Yes, Sir, to carry quarrels,
As gallants do; to manage them by line.

Face.
'Slid, Nab, the Doctor is the only man
In Christendom for him.

Drug.
Is he?

Face.
He has made a table,
With mathematical demonstrations,
Touching the art of quarrels.

Drug.
Has he?

Face.
He will give him
An instrument to quarrel by.

Drug.
Will he?

Face.
Go, bring 'em both,
Him and his sister. And for thee, with her
The Doctor haply may persuade. Go to.
Sha't give his worship a new damask suit
Upon the premisses.

Sub.
Oh, good Captain—

Face.
He shall:
He is the honestest fellow, Doctor—Stay not;
No offers; bring the damask and the parties.

Drug.
I'll try my power, Sir.

Face.
And thy will too, Nab.

Sub.
'Tis good tobacco, this. What is't a pound?

Drug.
I'll fell your worship a hogshead of it.

Face.
He'll send you a hogshead, Doctor.

[Abel runs out, and Face brings him back.
Sub.
Oh no!

Face.
He will do't:
It is the goodest soul—Abel, about it.
Thou shalt know more anon. Away, begone.

Drug.
I'll give him a pound.—I'll give him two pound.

[Exit.
Face.
A miserable rogue, and lives with cheese,
And has the worms. That was the cause, indeed,
Why he came now. He dealt with me in private,
To get a med'cine for them.

Sub.
And shall, Sir. This works.

Face.
A wife, a wife for one of us, my dear Subtle:
We'll e'en draw lots, ‘and he that fails shall have
‘The more in goods, the other has in tail.’
But Dol must ha' no breath on't.

Sub.
Mum.
Away you to your Surly, yonder; catch him.

Face.
Pray Heaven, I ha' not staid too long.

Sub.
I fear it.

[Exeunt.