And cross out my ill days, that I may neither Bargain, nor trust upon them.

Face. That he shall, Nab.

Leave it, it shall be done 'gainst afternoon.
Sub. And a rection for his shelves.
Face. Now, Nab?

Art thou well pleas'd, Nab?

Drug. Thank, sir, both your worships.
Face. Away!

[Erit DRUG. Why now, you smoky persecutor of Nature! Now, do you see, that something is to be done Beside your beech-coal, and your cor'sive waters, Your croslets, crucibles, and cucurbites?

You must have stuff brought home to you, to work on?

And yet you think I am at no expence,
In searching out these veins, then following 'em,
Then trying 'em out. 'Fore God, my intelligence
Costs me more money than my share oft comes to
In these rare works.

Sub. You're pleasant, sir. How now?

SCENE IV.

FACE, DOLL, and SUBTLE.

Sub. What says my dainty Dolkin?
Dol. Yonder fishwife

Will not away. And there's your giantess,
The bawd of Lambeth.

Sub. Heart, I cannot speak with 'em.

Dol. Not afore night, I have told 'em, in a

voice,

Through the trunk, like one of your familiars.
But I have spied Sir Epicure Mammon—
Sub. Where?

Dol. Coming along, at far end of the lane,
Slow of his feet, but earnest of his tongue,
To one that's with him.

Sub. Face, go you, and shift.
Dol, you must presently make ready too-
Dol. Why, what's the matter?
Sub. O, I did look for him

With the sun's rising: Marvel he could sleep!
This is the day I ani to perfect for him
The magisterium, our great work, the stone,
And yield it, made, into his hands: Of which
He has this month talk'd. as he were possess'd;
And now he's dealing pieces on't away.
Methinks I see him entʼring ordinaries,
Dispensing for the pox; to plaguy-houses,
Reaching his dose; walking Moorfields for lepers;
And off'ring citizens' wives pomander bracelets,
As his preservative, made of the elixir;
Searching the Spittle, to make old bawds young;
And the highways for beggars, to make rich:
I see no end of his labours. He will make
Nature asham'd of her long sleep; when Art,
Who's but a step-dame, shall do more than she,
In her best love to mankind, ever could.-
If his dream last, he'll turn the age to gold!
[Exeunt.

SCENE 1.

Enter MAMMON and SURLY.

Mam. 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!

You shall no more deal with the hollow die,
Or the frail card. No more be at charge of
keeping

The livery punk for the young heir, that must
Seal at all hours in his shirt. No more,
If he deny, ha' him beaten to it, as he is
That brings him the commodity. No more
Shall thirst of satin, or the covetous hunger
Öf velvet-entrails, for a rude-spun cloak,
To be display'd at Madam Augusta's, make
The sons of sword and hazard fall before
The golden calf, and on their knees, whole nights,
Commit idolatry with wine and trumpets,
Or go a-feasting after drum and ensign.→→→→

And unto thee, I speak it first, Be rich !—
Where is my Subtle, there? Within ho?
[Within.] Sir,

He'll come to you by and by.

Mam. That's his fire-drake,

His lungs, his zephyrus, he that puffs his coals,
Till he firk Nature up, in her own centre.
You are not faithful, sir. This night, I'll change
All that is metal 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 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 th' effects of the great

medicine!

Of which one part projected on a hundred
Of Mercury, or Venus, or the moon,
shall turn it to as many of the sun;
Nay, to a thousand, so ad infinitum:

You will believe me?

Sur. Yes, when I see't, I will.
But, if my eyes do cozen me so, and I
Giving 'em no occasion, sure I'll have
A whore shall piss 'em out next day.
Mum. Ha! why?

Do you think I fable 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 daugh-
ters,

Young giants; as our philosophers have done, (The ancient patriarchs before the flood) But taking, once a-week, on a knife's point, The quantity of a grain of mustard, of it: Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids. Sur. The decay'd vestals of Pickthatch 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.
I'll undertake, withal, to fright the plague
Out of the kingdom in three months.

Sur. And I'll

Mam. 'Tis like your Irish wood,

'Gainst cobwebs. I have a piece of Jason's fleece, too,

Which was no other than a book of alchemy, Writ in a large sheep-skin, a good fat ram-vellum. Such was Pythagoras's thigh, Pandora's tub; And all that table of Medea's charms,

The manner of our work: The bulls, our fur nace,

Still breathing fire; our argent-vive, the dragon:
The dragon's teeth, mercury sublimate,
That keeps the whiteness, hardness, and the
biting;

And they are gather'd into Jason's helm,
(Th' alembec) and then sow'd in Mars' field,
And, thence, sublim'd so often, 'till they are
fix'd.

Both this, th' Hesperian garden, Cadmus's story,
Jove's shower, the boon of Midas, Argus's eyes,
Boccace's demogorgon, thousands more,
All abstract riddles of our stone. How now?

SCENE II.

MAMMON, FACE, and SURLY. 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 fer

ment

Has done his office. Three hours hence, pre

pare you

To see projection.

Mani. Pertinax, 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 Zephyrus, right?

then,

Without their poets.

Mam. Sir, I'll do't. Mean time,

I'll give away so much, unto my man,
Shall serve the whole city, with preservative,
Weekly, each house his dose, and at the rate-
Sur. As he that built the water-work, does
with water?

Mam. You are incredulous.

Sur. Faith, I have a humour,

I would not willingly be gull'd. Your stone
Cannot transmute me.

Mam. Pertinax, Surly,

Will you believe antiquity? records?

Face. Like a wench with child, sir, That were but now discover'd to her master. Man. 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 of churches. Mam. That's true.

Face. Yes,

sister,

Lost in the embers; and repair this brain,
Hurt with the fume o' the metals.

Face. I have blown, sir,

Hard, for your worship; thrown by many a

coal,

When 'twas not beech; weigh'd those I put in,

just,

To keep your heat still even; 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 plum'd swan.

Mum. And, lastly,

Thou hast descry'd the flower, the sanguis agni?

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.
Thou'rt sure, thou saw'st it blood?

Face. Both blood and spirit, sir.

Mam. I will have all my beds blown up; not stuft:

Down is too hard. And then, mine oval room,
Fill'd with such pictures, as Tiberius took
From Elephantis; and dull Aretine

But coldly imitated. Then, my glasses,
Cut in more subtle angles, to disperse
And multiply the figures, as I walk
Naked between my succube. My mists
I'll have of perfume, vapour'd 'bout the room,
To lose ourselves in; and my baths, like pits
To fall into: from whence we will come forth,
And roll us dry in gossamour and roses.
(Is it arriv'd at ruby?)Where I spy
A wealthy citizen, or rich lawyer,

Have a sublim'd pure wife, unto that fellow

I'll send a thousand pound, to be my cuckold. Face. And I shall carry it?

Mam. No, I'll ha' 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 mere fools,
Eloquent burgesses: And then my poets,
The same that write so subtly of the Fart,
Whom I will entertain, still, for that subject.
The few, that would give out themselves, to be
Court and town stallions, and each where belie
Ladies, who are known most innocent for them;
Those will I beg to make me eunuchs of:
And they shall fan me with ten ostrich tails
A-piece, made in a plume to gather wind.
We will be brave, Puff, 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, saphirs, hyacinths, and rubies.
The tongues of carps, dormice, and camels' heels,
Boil'd i' the spirit of Sol, and dissolv'd pearl,
(Apicius's diet 'gainst the epilepsy)
And I will eat these broths with spoons of amber,
Headed with diamond and carbuncle.
My footboy shall eat pheasants, calver'd salmons,
Knots, godwits, lampreys: I myself will have
The beards of barbles, serv'd instead of sallads;

Face. Sir, I'll go look

A little how it heightens.

Mam. Do. My shirts

I'll have of taffata-sarsnet, soft, and light
As cobwebs; and for all other raiment,
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.

SCENE III.

MAMMON, SUBTLE, SURLY, and FACE. Mam. 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

You're 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 you do not cause the blessing leave

you,

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 plac'd

'em.

Which, (Heav'n I call to witness, with yourself, To whom I have pour'd my thoughts) 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

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,
The glorified spirit. Thanks be to Heav'n,
And make us worthy of it! Ulen Spiegel.
Face. Anon, sir.

Sub. Look well to the register,

And let your heat still lessen by degrees,
To the aludels.

Mam. By pouring on your rectified water?
Sub. Yes, and reverberating in Athanor.
How now? What colour says it?
Face. The ground black, sir.

Mam. That's your crow's head?
Sur. Your cock's combs, is't not?

Sub. No, 'tis not perfect; would it were the crow!

That work wants something.

Sur. O, I look'd for this. The hay is a-pitching.

Sub. Are you sure, you loos'd 'em

I' their own menstrue?

Face. Yes, sir, and then married 'em,

And put 'em 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 saved, was put into the pellican, And sign'd with Hermes's seal.

Sub. I think 'twas so.

We should have a new amalgama. Sur. O, this ferret

Is rank as any polecat.

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?
Fuce. 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. Mm. Away, here's money. What will serve? e. Ask him, sir.

Mam. How much?

Sub. Give him nine pound: You may gi' him

ten.

Sur. Yes, twenty, and be cozen'd, do.

Mam. There 'tis.

Sub. This needs not, but that you will have

it so,

To see conclusions of all. For two
Of our inferior works are at fixation;
A third is in ascension. Go your ways.
Ha' you set the oil of Luna in Kemia?
Face. Yes, sir.

Sub. And the philosopher's vinegar?
Face. Ay.

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 vaporoso; And giving him solution; then congeal him;