The Holloway Pages: Ben Jonson: Works (1692 Folio): The Alchemist

The Alchemist.

209

T H E

ALCHEMIST.

A C O M E D Y.

First Acted in the Year 1610. By the K I N G S M A J E S T Y' S Servants.

With the Allowance of the Master of R E V E L S.

The Author B. J.

----------petere inde coronam,
Unde prius nulli verlarint tempora Musć. Lucret.

To the L A D Y most deserving Her N A M E and B L O O D,

Mary Lady Wroth.

M A D A M,

I

N the Age of Sacrifices, the Truth of Religion was not in the Greatness and Fat of the Offerings, but in the Devotion and Zeal of the Sacrificers: Else what could a Handful of Gums have done in the sight of a Hecatomb? Or, how might I appear at this Altar, except with those Affections that no less love the Light and Witness, than they have the Conscience of your Vertue? If what I offer bear an acceptable Odour, and hold the first Strength, it is your Value of it, which remembers where, when, and to whom it was kindled. Otherwise, as the Times are, there comes rarely forth that Thing so full of Authority or Example, but by Assiduity and Custom grows less, and loses. This, yet, safe in your Judgment (which is a SI D N E Y S) is forbidden to speak more, lest it talk or look like one of the Ambitious Faces of the Time, who the more they paint, are the less themselves.

Your Ladiships true Honourer,

BEN. JOHNSON.

E e

210

The P E R S O N S of the P L A Y.

S U B T L E, the Alchemist.	E P I C U R E M A M M O N, a Knight.
F A C E, the House-keeper.	S U R L E Y, a Gamester.
D O L. C O M M O N, their Colleague.	T R I B U L A T I O N, a Pastor of Amsterdam.
D A P P E R, a Clerk.	A N A N I A S, a Deacon there.
D R U G G E R, a Tabacco-man.	K A S T R I L L, the angry Boy.
L O V E-W I T, Master of the House.	D A. P L I A N T, his Sister; a Widow.

N E I G H B O U R S.

O F F I C E R S.

M U T E S.

The S C E N E

L O N D O N.

The Principal C O M ś D I A N S were,

RIC. BURBADGE.

JOH. LOWIN.

HEN. CONDEL.

ALEX. COOKE.

ROB. ARMIN

JOH. HEMINGS.

WILL. OSTLER.

JOH. UNDERWOOD.

NIC. TOOLY.

WILL. EGLESTONE.

T H E

211

T H E
ALCHEMIST.

T H E A R G U M E N T.

T	he Sickness hot, a Master quit, for fear,
H	is House in Town, and left one Servant there.
E	ase him corrupted, and gave means to know

A	Cheater, and his Punk; who, now brought low,
L	eaving their narrow Practice, were become
C	os'ners at large; and only wanting some
H	ouse to set up, with him they here contract,
E	ach for a Share, and all begin to act.
M	uch Company they draw, and much abuse,
I	n casting Figures, telling Fortunes, News,
S	elling of Flies, flat Bawd'ry, with the Stone;
T	ill it, and they, and all in Fume are gone.

P R O L O G U E.

Ortune, that favours Fools, these two short Hours
   We wish away, both for your sakes, and ours,
Judging Spectators; and desire in place,
   To th' Author Justice, to our selves but Grace.
Our Scene is London, 'cause we would make known,
   No Countries Mirth is better than our own:
No Clime breeds better Matter for your Whore,
   Bawd, Squire, Impostor, many Persons more,
Whose Manners, now call'd Humours, feed the Stage;
   And which have still been Subject for the Rage
Or Spleen of Comick Writers. Though this Pen
   Did never aim to grieve, but better Men;
Howe'er the Age he lives in doth endure
   The Vices that she breeds, above their Cure.
But when the wholesom Remedies are sweet,
   And in their working Gain and Profit meet,
He hopes to find no Spirit so much diseas'd,
   But will with such fair Correctives be pleas'd:
For here he doth not fear who can apply.
   If there be any that will sit so nigh
Unto the Stream, to look what it doth run,
   They shall find things, they'ld think, or wish, were done;
They are so natural Follies, but so shown,
   As even the Doers may see, and yet now own.

Act I. Scene I.

Face, Subtle, Dol Common.

Eliev't, I will.   Sub. Thy worst. I fart at thee.
   Dol. Ha' you your Wits? Why Gentlemen! for
love —
   Fac. Sirrah, I'll strip you — Sub. What to do? lick Figs
Out at my — Fac. Rogue, Rogue, out of all your sleights.

[column break]

   Dol. Nay, look ye, Sovereign, General, are you Madmen?
   Sub. O, let the wild Sheep loose. I'll Gum your Silks
With good Strong-warter, an' you come.
   Dol. Will you have
The Neighbours hear you? Will you betray all?
Heark, I hear some body.   Fac. Sirrah — Sub. I shall mar
All that the Taylor has made, if you approach.
   Fac. You most notorious Whelp, you insolent Slave,
Dare you do this?   Sub. Yes faith, yes faith.   Fac. Why, who
Am I, my Mungril? who am I?   Sub. I'll tell you,
Since you know not your self — Fac. Speak lower, Rogue.
   Sub. Yes. You were once (time's not long past) the good,
Honest, plain, Livery-three-pound-thrum, that kept
Your Masters Worships House here in the Friers,
For the Vacations — Fac. Will you be so lowd?
   Sub. Since, by my means, translated Suburb-Captain.
   Fac. By your means, Doctor Dog?
   Sub. Within Man's memory,
All this I speak of.   Fac. Why, I pray you, have I
Been countenanc'd by you, or you by me?
Do but collect, Sir, where I met you first.
   Sub. I do not hear well.   Fac. Not of this, I think it.
But I shall put you in mind, Sir; at Pie-corner,
Taking your meal of Steam in, from Cooks Stalls;
Where, like the Father of Hunger, you did walk
Piteously costive, with your pinch'd-horn-nose,
And your Complexion of the Roman Wash,
Stuck full of black and melancholick Worms,
Like Powder-corns shot at th' Artillery-yard.
   Sub. I wish you could advance your Voice a little.
   Fac. When you went pinn'd up in the several Rags
Yo' had rak'd and pick'd from Dunghils, before day;
Your Feet in mouldy Slippers, for your Kibes
A Felt of Rug, and a thin thredden Cloke,
That scarce would cover your no-Buttock ——
   Sub. So, Sir!
   Fac. When all your Alchemy, and your Algebra,
Your Minerals, Vegetals, and Animals,

E e 2 Your

212	The Alchemist.

Your Conjuring, Coz'ning, and your dozen of Trades,
Could not relieve your Corps with so much Linnen
Would make you Tinder, but to see a Fire;
I ga' you Count'nance, Credit for your Coals,
Your Stills, your Glasses, your Materials;
Built you a Fornace, drew you Customers,
Advanc'd all your black Arts; lent you, beside,
A House to practise in — Sub. Your Master's House?
   Fac. Where you have studied the more thriving Skill
Of Bawd'ry since.   Sub. Yes, in your Master's House.
You and the Rats here kept possession.
Make it not strange. I know yo' were one could keep
The Buttry-hatch still lock'd, and save the Chippings,
Sell the Dole-Beer to Aqua-vitć-men,
The which, together with you Christmass Vails
At Post and Pair, your letting out of Counters,
Made you a pretty Stock, some twenty Marks,
And gave you credit to converse with Cobwebs,
Here, since your Mistris Death hath broke up House.
   Fac. You might talk softlier, Rascal.   Sub. No, you Scarabe,
I'll thunder you in pieces: I will teach you
How to beware to tempt a Fury again,
That carries Tempest in his Hand and Voice.
   Fac. The Place has made you valiant.
   Sub. No, your Clothes.
Thou Vermin, have I tane thee out of Dung,
So poor, so wretched, when no living thing
Would keep thee Company, but a Spider, or worse?
Rais'd thee from Brooms, and Dust, and Watring Pots?
Sublim'd thee, and exalted thee, and fix'd thee
I' the Third Region, call'd our State of Grace?
Wrought thee to Spirit, to Quintessence, with pains
Would twice have won me the Philosopher's Work?
Put thee in Words and Fashion, made thee fit
For more than ordinary Fellowships?
Giv'n thee thy Oaths, thy quarelling Dimensions?
Thy Rules to cheat at Horse-race, Cock-pit, Cards,
Dice, or whatever gallant Tincture else?
Made thee a Second in mine own great Art?
And have I this for thanks? Do you rebel?
Do you fly out i' the Projection?
Would you be gone now?
   Dol. Gentlemen, what mean you?
Will you mar all?   Sub. Slave, thou hadst had no Name —
   Dol. Will you undo your selves with Civil War?
   Sub. Never been known, past Equi clibanum,
The heat of Horse-dung, under Ground, in Cellars,
Or an Ale-house darker than deaf John's; been lost
To all Mankind, but Laundresses and Tapsters,
Had not I been.
   Dol. Do you know who hears you, Sovereign?
   Fac. Sirrah ——
   Dol. Nay, General, I thought you were civil ——
   Fac. I shall turn desperate, if you grow thus lowd.
   Sub. And hang thy self, I care not.
   Fac. Hang thee, Colliar,
And all thy Pots and Pans, in Picture, I will,
Since thou hast mov'd me ———
   Dol. (O, this 'll orethrow all.)
   Fac. Write thee up Bawd in Pauls, have all thy Tricks
Of coz'ning with a hollow Coal, Dust, Scrapings,
Searching for things lost with a Sieve and Shears,
Erecting Figures in your Rows of Houses,
And taking in of Shadows with a Glass,
Told in Red Letters; and a Face cut for thee,
Worse than Gamaliel Ratsey's.   Dol. Are you sound?
Ha' you your Senses, Masters?   Fac. I will have
A Book, but barely reckoning thy Impostures,
Shall prove a true Philosophers Stone, to Printers.
   Sub. Away, you Trencher-Rascal.
   Fac. Out, you Dog-leach,
The Vomit of all Prisons — Dol. Will you be
Your own Destructions, Gentlemen? Still spew'd out
For lying too heavy o' the Basket.

[column break]

   Sub. Cheater.   Fac. Bawd.
   Sub. Cow-herd.   Fac. Conjurer.   Sub. Cut-purse.
   Fac. Witch.   Dol. O me!
We are ruin'd! lost! Ha' you no more regard
To your Reputations? Where's your Judgment? 'Slight,
Have yet some care of me, o' your Republick —
   Fac. Away, this Brach. I'll bring thee, Rogue, within
The Statute of Sorcery, Tricesimo tertio
Of Harry the Eighth: I, and (perhaps) thy Neck
Within a Noose, for laundring Gold, and barbing it.
   Dol. You'll bring your Head within a Cockscomb,
will you?

[She catches out Face's Sword, and breaks Subtle's Glass.

And you, Sir, with your Menstrue, gather it up.
'Sdeath, you abominable Pair of Stinkards,
Leave off your Barking, and grow one again,
Or, by the Light that shines, I'll cut your Throats.
I'll not be made a Prey unto the Marshal,
For ne'er a snarling Dog-bolt o' you both.
Ha' you together cozen'd all this while,
And all the World? and shall it now be said,
Yo' have made most courteous shift to cozen your selves?
You will accuse him? You will bring him in
Within the Statute? Who shall take your word?
A whoreson, upstart, Apocryphal Captain,
Whom not a Puritan in Black-Friars will trust
So much as for a Feather! And you too
Will give the Cause, forsooth? You will insult,
And claim a Primacy in the Divisions?
You must be Chief? As if you only had
The Powder to project with, and the Work
Were not begun out of Equality?
The Venture Tripartite? All things in common?
Without Priority? 'Sdeath, you perpetual Curs,
Fall to your Couples again, and cozen kindly,
And heartily, and lovingly, as you should,
And lose not the beginning of a Term,
Or, by this Hand, I shall grow factious too,
And take my part, and quit you.   Fac. 'Tis his fault,
He ever murmurs, and objects his Pains,
And says, the weight of all lies upon him.
   Sub. Why, so it does.   Dol. How does it? Do not we
Sustain our Parts?   Sub. Yes, but they are not equal.
   Dol. Why, if your Part exceed to day, I hope
Ours may to morrow match it.   Sub. I, they may.
   Dol. May, murmuring Mastiff! I, and do. Death on me!
Help me to throttle him.   Sub. Dorothee, Mistris Dorothee,
'Ods precious, I'll do any thing. What do you mean?
   Dol. Because o' your Fermentation and Cibation?
   Sub. Not I, by Heaven ——
   Dol. Your Sol and Luna — help me.
   Sub. Would I were hang'd then. I'll conform my self.
   Dol. Will you, Sir? Do so then, and quickly: swear.
   Sub. What should I swear?
   Dol. To leave your Faction, Sir,
And labour kindly in the Common Work.
   Sub. Let me not breathe, if I meant ought beside.
I only us'd those Speeches as a Spur
To him.   Dol. I hope we need no Spurs, Sir. Do we?
   Fac. 'Slid, prove to day, who shall shark best.
   Sub. Agreed.
   Dol. Yes, and work close, and friendly.
   Sub. 'Slight, the Knot
Shall grow the stronger for this Breach, with me.
   Dol. Why, so my good Baboons! Shall we go make
A sort of sober, scurvy, precise Neighbours,
(That scarce have smil'd twice sin' the King came in)
A Feast of Laughter at our Follies? Rascals,
Would run themselves from breath, to see me ride,
Or you t'have but a Hole to thrust your Heads in,
For which you should pay Ear-rent? No, agree.
And may Don Provost ride a feasting long,
In his old Velvet Jerkin and stain'd Scarfs,
(My noble Sovereign, and worthy General)

Ere

The Alchemist.

213

Ere we contribute a new Crewel Garter
To his most Worsted Worship.   Sub. Royal Dol!
Spoken like Claridiana, and thy self.
   Fac. For which, at Supper, thou shalt sit in triumph,
And not be styl'd Dol Common, but Dol Proper,
Dol Singular: The longest Cut, at Night,
Shall draw thee for his Dol Particular.
   Sub. Who's that? one rings. To the Windo', Dol.
Pray Heav'n,
The Master do not trouble us this Quarter.
   Fac. O, fear not him. While there dies one a Week
O' the Plague, he's safe, from thinking toward London.
Beside, he's busie at his Hop-yards now:
I had a Letter from him. If he do,
He'll send such word, for airing o' the House,
As you shall have sufficient time to quit it:
Though we break up a Fortnight, 'tis no matter.
   Sub. Who is it, Dol?
   Dol. A fine young Quodling.   Fac. O,
My Lawyers Clerk, I lighted on last night
In Holborn, at the Dagger. He would have
(I told you of him) a Familiar,
To rifle with at Horses, and win Cups.
   Dol. O, let him in.
   Sub. Stay. Who shall do't?   Fac. Get you
Your Robes on: I will meet him, as going out.
   Dol. And what shall I do?   Fac. Not be seen, away.
Seem you very reserv'd.
   Sub. Enough.   Fac. God b' w' you, Sir.
I pray you let him know that I was here.
His Name is Dapper. I would gladly have staid, but —

Act I.    Scene II.

Dapper, Face, Subtle.

Aptain, I am here.
   Fac. Who's that? He's come, I think, Doctor.
Good faith, Sir, I was going away.   Dap. In truth,
I am very sorry, Captain.   Fac. But I thought
Sure I should meet you.   Dap. I, I am very glad.
I had a scurvy Writ or two to make,
And I had lent my Watch last night to one
That dines to day at the Sheriffs, and so was robb'd
Of my pass-time. Is this the Cunning-man?
   Fac. This is his Worship.   Dap. Is he a Doctor?   Fac. Yes.
   Dap. And ha' you broke with him, Captain?
   Fac. I.   Dap. And how?
   Fac. Faith, he does make the matter, Sir, so dainty,
I know not what to say — Dap. Not so, good Captain.
   Fac. Would I were fairly rid on't, believe me.
   Dap. Nay, now you grieve me, Sir. Why should you
wish so?
I dare assure you, I'll not be ungrateful.
   Fac. I cannot think you will, Sir. But the Law
Is such a thing — And then he says, Read's Matter
Falling so lately — Dap. Read? He was an Ass,
And dealt, Sir, with a Fool.   Fac. It was a Clerk, Sir.
   Dap. A Clerk?
   Fac. Nay, hear me, Sir, you know the Law
Better, I think — Dap. I should, Sir, and the Danger.
You know, I shew'd the Statute to you?   Fac. You did so.
   Dap. And will I tell then? By this Hand of Flesh,
Would it might never write good Court-hand more,
If I discover. What do you think of me,
That I am a Chiause?
   Fac. What's that?   Dap. The Turk was, here —
As one would say, Do you think I am a Turk?
   Fac. I'll tell the Doctor so.
   Dap. Do, good sweet Captain.
   Fac. Come, noble Doctor, pray thee let's prevail;
This is the Gentleman, and he is no Chiause.
   Sub. Captain, I have return'd you all my Answer.
I would do much, Sir, for your Love — But this

[column break]

I neither may, nor can.   Fac. Tut, do not say so.
You deal now with a noble Fellow, Doctor,
One that will thank you richly, and h' is no Chiause:
Let that, Sir, move you.
   Sub. Pray you, forbear —— Fac. He has
Four Angels here —— Sub. You do me wrong, good Sir.
   Fac. Doctor, wherein? To tempt you with these Spirits?
   Sub. To tempt my Art, and Love, Sir, to my peril.
'Fore Heav'n, I scarce can think you are my Friend,
That so would draw me to apparent danger.
   Fac. I draw you? A Horse draw you, and a Halter,
You, and your Flies together — Dap. Nay, good Captain.
   Fac. That know no difference of Men.
   Sub. Good words, Sir.
   Fac. Good deeds, Sir, Doctor Dogs-meat.
'Slight, I bring you
No cheating Clim o' the Cloughs, or Claribels,
That look as big as Five-and-fifty, and Flush,
And spit out Secrets like hot Custard — Dap. Captain.
   Fac. Nor any melancholick Under-scribe,
Shall tell the Vicar; but a special Genteel,
That is the Heir to Forty Marks a Year,
Consorts with the small Poets of the time,
Is the sole Hope of his old Grandmother,
That knows the Law, and writes you six fair Hands,
Is a fine Clerk, and has his Cyph'ring perfect,
Will take his Oath o' the Greek Xenophon,
If need be, in his Pocket; and can court
His Mistris out of Ovid.   Dap. Nay, dear Captain.
   Fac. Did you not tell me so?   Dap. Yes, but I'ld ha' you
Use Master Doctor with some more respect.
   Fac. Hang him, proud Stag, with his broad Velvet Head.
But for your sake, I'ld choak, ere I would change
An Article of Breath with such a Puckfoist ——
Come, let's be gone.   Sub. Pray you le' me speak with you.
   Dap. His Worship calls you,Captain.   Fac. I am sorry
I ere imbark'd my self in such a Business,
   Dap. Nay, good Sir, he did call you.
   Fac. Will he take then?
   Sub. First, hear me ——
   Fac. Not a Syllable, 'less you take.
   Sub. Pray ye, Sir ——
   Fac. Upon no Terms, but an Assumpsit.

[He takes the
Money.

   Sub. Your Humour must be Law.
   Fac. Why now, Sir, talk.
Now I dare hear you with mine Honour. Speak.
So may this Gentleman too.
   Sub. Why, Sir —— Fac. No whispering.
   Sub. 'Fore Heav'n, you do not apprehend the Loss
You do your self, in this.   Fac. Wherein? For what?
   Sub. Marry, to be so importunate for one,
That, when he has it, will undo you all:
He'll win up all the Money i' the Town.
   Fac. How!
   Sub. Yes, and blow up Gamester after Gamester,
As they do Crackers in a Puppet-play.
If I do give him a Familiar,
Give you him all you play for; never set him:
For he will have it.   Fac. You are mistaken, Doctor.
Why, he does ask one but for Cups and Horses,
A rifling Fly; none o' your great Familiars.
   Dap. Yes, Captain, I would have it for all Games.
   Sub. I told you so.   Fac. 'Slight, that's a new Business!
I understood you, a tame Bird, to fly
Twice in a Term, or so, on Friday Nights,
When you had left the Office, for a Nag
Of forty or fifty Shillings.   Dap. I, 'tis true, Sir;
But I do think now I shall leave the Law,
And therefore — Fac. Why, this changes quite the Case!
Do' you think that I dare move him?
   Dap. If you please, Sir;
All's one to him, I see.   Fac. What! for that Money?
I cannot with my Conscience: Nor should you
Make the Request, methinks.   Dap. No, Sir, I mean

214	The Alchemist.

To add Consideration.   Fac. Why then, Sir,
I'll try. Say that it were for all Games, Doctor?
   Sub. I say then, not a Mouth shall eat for him
At any Ordinary, but o' the Score,
That is a Gaming Mouth, conceive me.   Fac. Indeed!
   Sub. He'll draw you all the Treasure of the Realm,
If it be set him.   Fac. Speak you this from Art?
   Sub. I, Sir, and Reason too, the Ground of Art.
H' is o' the only best Complexion,
The Queen of Fairy loves.   Fac. What! is he!   Sub. Peace.
He'll over-hear you. Sir, should she but see him —
   Fac. What?   Sub. Do not you tell him.
   Fac. Will he win at Cards too?
   Sub. The Spirits of dead Holland, living Isaac,
You'ld swear, were in him; such a vigorous Luck
As cannot be resisted. 'Slight, he'll put
Six o' your Gallants to a Cloak, indeed.
   Fac. A strange Success, that some Man shall be born to!
   Sub. He hears you, Man —
   Dap. Sir, I'll not be ingrateful.
   Fac. Faith, I have confidence in his good nature:
You hear, he says he will not be ingrateful.
   Sub. Why, as you please; my Venture follows yours.
   Fac. Troth, do it, Doctor; think him trusty, and make him.
He may make us both happy in an Hour;
Win some five thousand Pound, and send us two o' it.
   Dap. Believe it, and I will, Sir.   Fac. And you shall, Sir.
You have heard all?
   Dap. No, what was't? nothing, I, Sir.

[Face takes him aside.

   Fac. Nothing?
   Dap. A little, Sir.   Fac. Well, a rare Star
Reign'd at your Birth.
   Dap. At mine, Sir? No.   Fac. The Doctor
Swears that you are —
   Sub. Nay, Captain, you'll tell all now.
   Fac. Allied to the Queen of Fairy.
   Dap. Who? that I am?
Believe it, no such matter — Fac. Yes, and that
Yo' were born with a Cawl o' your Head.
   Dap. Who says so?   Fac. Come,
You know it well enough, tho' you dissemble it.
   Dap. I-fac, I do not: You are mistaken.   Fac. How!
Swear by your fac? and in a thing so known
Unto the Doctor? How shall we, Sir, trust you
I' the other matter? Can we ever think,
When you have won five or six thousand Pound,
You'll send us Shares in't, by this rate?   Dap. By Jove, Sir,
I'll win ten thousand Pound, and send you half.
I-fac's no Oath.   Sub. No, no, he did but jest.
   Fac. Go to. Go thank the Doctor. He's your Friend,
To take it so.   Dap. I thank his Worship.   Fac. So:
Another Angel.   Dap. Must I?   Fac. Must you? 'Slight,
What else is Thanks? Will you be trivial? Doctor,
When must he come for his Familiar?
   Dap. Shall I not ha' it with me?   Sub. O, good Sir!
There must a World of Ceremonies pass,
You must be bath'd and fumigated first:
Besides, the Queen of Fairy does not rise
Till it be Noon.   Fac. Not, if she danc'd, to night.
   Sub. And she must bless it.   Fac. Did you never see
Her Royal Grace yet?   Dap. Whom? your Aunt of Fairy?
   Sub. Not since she kist him in the Cradle, Captain;
I can resolve you that.   Fac. Well, see her Grace,
Whatere it cost you, for a thing that I know.
It will be somewhat hard to compass; but
However, see her. Her Grace is a lone Woman,
And very rich; and if she take a Phant'sie,
She will do strange things. See her, at any hand.
'Slid, she may hap to leave you all she has!
It is the Doctor's fear.   Dap. How will't be done then?
   Fac. Let me alone, take you no thought. Do you
But say to me, Captain, I'll see her Grace.
   Dap. Captain, I'll see her Grace.   Fac. Enough.

[column break]

[One knocks without.

   Sub. VVho's there?
Anon. (Conduct him forth by the back way.)
Sir, against one a clock prepare your self:
Till when you must be fasting; only take
Three drops of Vinegar in at your Nose,
Two at your Mouth, and one at either Ear;
Then bath your Fingers ends, and wash your Eyes,
To sharpen your Five Senses, and cry Hum
Thrice, and then Buz as often; and then come.
   Fac. Can you remember this?   Dap. I warrant you.
   Fac. VVell then, away. 'Tis but your bestowing
Some Twenty Nobles 'mong her Graces Servants,
And put on a clean Shirt: You do not know
VVhat her Grace may do you in clean Linnen.

Act I.    Scene III.

Subtle, Drugger, Face.

Ome in: (Good Wives, I pray you forbear me now:
Troth I can do you no good till after-noon.)
What is your Name, say you? Abel Drugger?   Dru. Yes, Sir.
   Sub. A Seller of Tabacco?   Dru. Yes, Sir.   Sub. Umh.
Free of the Grocers?   Dru. I, an't please you.   Sub. Well —
Your Business, Abel?   Dru. This, an't please your Worship;
I am a young Beginner, and am building
Of a new Shop, an't like your Worship, just
At corner of a Street: (Here's the Plot on't.)
And I would know by Art, Sir, of your VVorship,
VVhich way I should make my Door, by Necromancy,
And where my Shelves; and which should be for Boxes,
And which for Pots. I would be glad to thrive, Sir.
And I was wish'd to your VVorship by a Gentleman,
One Captain Face, that says you know Mens Planets,
And their good Angels, and their bad.   Sub. I do,
If I do see 'em — Fac. VVhat! my honest Abel?
Thou art well met here.   Dru. Troth, Sir, I was speaking,
Just as your VVorship came here, of your VVorship.
I pray you speak for me to Master Doctor.
   Fac. He shall do any thing. Doctor, do you hear?
This is my Friend, Abel, an honest Fellow;
He lets me have good Tabacco, and he does not
Sophisticate it with Sack-lees or Oil,
Nor washes it in Muscadel and Grains,
Nor buries it in Gravel, under Ground,
VVrapp'd up in greasie Leather, or piss'd Clouts:
But keeps it in fine Lilly-pots, that open'd,
Smell like Conserve of Roses, or French Beans.
He has his Maple Block, his Silver Tongs,
Winchester Pipes, and Fire of Juniper,
A neat, spruce, honest Fellow, and no Goldsmith.
   Sub. H' is a fortunate Fellow, that I am sure on —
   Fac. Already, Sir, ha' you found it? Lo' thee, Abel!
   Sub. And in right way to'ward Riches —
   Fac. Sir.   Sub. This Summer
He will be of the Clothing of his Company,
And next Spring call'd to the Scarlet; spend what he can.
   Fac. What, and so little Beard?   Sub. Sir, you must think,
He may have a Receit to make Hair come:
But he'll be wise, preserve his Youth, and fine for't;
His Fortune looks for him another way.
   Fac. 'Slid, Doctor, how canst thou know this so soon?
I am amus'd at that!   Sub. By a Rule, Captain,
In Metaposcopy, which I do work by;
A certain Star i' the Forehead, which you see not.
Your Chestnut, or your Olive-colour'd Face
Do's never fail: and your long Ear doth promise.
I knew't, by certain spots too, in his Teeth,
And on the Nail of his Mercurial Finger.
   Fac. Which Finger's that?   Sub. His little Finger. Look.
Yo' were born upon a Wednesday?
   Dru. Yes indeed, Sir.
   Sub. The Thumb, in Chiromanty, we give Venus;
The Fore-finger, to Jove; the midst, to Saturn;

The

The Alchemist.

215

The ring, to Sol; the least, to Mercury:
Who was the Lord, Sir, of his Horoscope,
His house of life being Libra; which fore-shew'd,
He should be a Merchant, and should trade with Ballance.
   Fac. Why, this is strange! Is't not, honest Nab?
   Sub. There is a Ship now, coming from Ormus,
That shall yield him, such a commodity
Of drugs — This is the West, and this the South?
   Dru. Yes, Sir.   Sub. And those are your two sides?
   Dru. I, Sir.
   Sub. Make me your Door, then, South; your Broad-
      side, West:
And, on the East-side of your Shop, aloft,
Write Mathlai, Tarmiel, and Baraborat;
Upon the North-part, Rael, Velel, Thiel.
They are the names of those Mercurial Spirits,
That do fright Flyes from Boxes.   Dru. Yes, Sir.   Sub. And
Beneath your threshold, bury me a Load-stone
To draw in Gallants, that wear Spurs: The rest,
They'll seem to follow.   Fac. That's a secret, Nab!
   Sub. And, on your Stall, a Puppet, with a Vice,
And a Court fucus to call City-dames.
You shall deal much with Minerals.   Dru. Sir, I have
At home, already — Sub. I, I know, you have Arsnike,
Vitriol, Sal-tartre, Argaile, Alkaly,
Cinoper: I know all. This Fellow, Captain,
Will come, in time, to be a great Distiller,
And give a Say (I will not say directly,
But very fair) at the Philosophers stone.
   Fac. Why, how now, Abel! is this true?   Dru. Good
      Captain,
What must I give?   Fac. Nay, I'll not counsel thee.
Thou hear'st what Wealth (he says, spend what thou
      canst)
Th'art like to come too.   Dru. I would gi' him a Crown.
   Fac. A Crown! and toward such a Fortune? Heart,
Thou shalt rather gi' him thy Shop. No Gold about thee?
   Dru. Yes, I have a Portague, I ha' kept this half year.
   Fac. Out on thee, Nab. 'Slight, there was such an offer —
'Shalt keep't no longer, I'll gi' it him for thee?
Doctor, Nab prays your Worship to drink this, and
      swears
He will appear more grateful, as your skill
Do's raise him in the World.   Dru. I would intreat
Another favour of his Worship.   Fac. What is't, Nab?
   Dru. But, to look over, Sir, my Almanack,
And cross out my ill-days, that I may neither
Bargain, nor trust upon them.   Fac. That he shall Nab.
Leave it, it shall be done, 'gainst Afternoon.
   Sub. And a direction for his Shelves.   Fac. Now, Nab?
Art thou well pleas'd, Nab?   Dru. 'Thank, Sir, both your
      Worships.
   Fac. Away.
Why, now you smoky persecuter of Nature!
Now do you see, that some-thing's to be done,
Beside your Beech-coal, and your cor'sive Waters,
Your Crosslets, 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
Cost me more Money, than my share oft comes too,
In these rare Works.   Sub. You'are pleasant, Sir. How now?

Act I.    Scene IV.

Face, Dol, Subtle.

Hat says my dainty Dolkin?   Dol. Yonder Fish-wife
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,
Thorough the Trunk, like one of your Familiars.
But I have spied Sir Epicure Mammon — Sub. Where?

[column break]

   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 Suns rising: 'Marvel, he could sleep!
This is the day I am 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,
Me thinks I see him entring Ordinaries,
Dispensing for the Pox, and Plaguy-houses,
Reaching his Dose, walking Moore-fields for Lepers,
And offering Citizens-wives Pomander-braclets,
As his perservative, made of the Elixir;
Searching the Spittle, to make old Bawds young;
And the High-ways, 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 to love to Mankind, ever could.
If his Dream last, he'll turn the Age to Gold.

Act II. Scene I.

Mammon, Surly.

Ome 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 sayling 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 Dye,
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't, as he is
That brings him the Commodity. No more
Small thirst of Sattin, or the Covetous hunger
Of Velvet Entrails, for a rude-spun Cloke,
To be displaid at Madam Augusta's, make
The Sons of Sword, and Hazzard 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.
No more of this. You shall start up young Vice-rois,
And have your Punques, and Punquetees, my Surly.

}

Within

}

Sir.

And unto thee, I speak it first, Be Rich.
Where is my Subtle, there? Within hough?
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 Center.
You are not faithful, Sir. This night, I'll change
All, that is Metal, in thy House, to Gold.
And, early in the Merning, 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

216	The Alchemist.

Giving 'em no occasion) sure I'll have
A Whore, shall piss 'em out, next day.   Mam. 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 it's Vertue,
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,
Young Giants; as our Philosophers have done
(The antient Patriarks afore the Flood)
But taking, once a Week, on a Knives Point,
The quantity of a Grain of Mustard of it:
Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids.
   Sur. The decay'd Vestals of Pickt-hatch would thank
      you,
That keep the Fire a-live, 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 years 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 o' the Kingdom, in three Months.   Sur. And I'll
Be bound, the Players shall sing your Praises, then,
Without their Poets.   Mam. Sir, I'll do't. Mean time,
I'll give away so much unto my Man,
Shall serve th' whole City, with preservative,
Weekly; each House his Dose, and at the rate —
   Sur. As he that built the Water-work, do's 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?
I'll shew you a Book, where Moses, and his Sister,
And Solomon have written of the Art;
I, and a Treatise penn'd by Adam.   Sur. How!
   Mam. O' the Philosophers Stone, and in high Dutch.
   Sur. Did Adam write, Sir, in high Dutch?   Mam. He did:
Which proves it was the Primitive Tongue.   Sur. What
      Paper?
   Mam. On Cedar Board.   Sur. O that, indeed (they say)
Will last 'gainst Worms.   Mam. 'Tis like your Irish Wood,
'Gainst Cob-webs. I have a piece of Jasons's Fleece, too,
Which was no other than a Book of Alchemy,
Writ in large Sheep-skin, a good fat Ram-vellam.
Such was Pythagoras's Thigh, Pandora's Tub;
And, all that Fable of Medeas Charms,
The manner of our Work: The Bulls, our Furnace,
Still breathing Fire: our Argent-vive, the Dragon:
The Dragons Teeth, Mercury Sublimate,
That keeps the whiteness, hardness, and the biting;
And they are gather'd into Jason's Helm,
(Th' Alembick) and then sow'd in Mars his Field,
And thence sublim'd so often, till they are fix'd.
Both this, th' Hesperian Garden, Cadmus Story,
Jove's Shower, the Boon of Midas, Argus Eyes,
Boccace his Demogorgon, thousands more,
All abstract Riddles of our Stone. How now?

Act II.    Scene II.

Mammon, Face, Surly.

O we succeed? Is our day come? and hold's it?
   Fac. 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. Pertinax, my Surly,
Again, I say to thee, aloud, Be Rich.

[column break]

This day, thou shalt have Ingots: and, to Morrow,
Give Lords th' affront. Is it, my Zephyrus, right?
Blushes the Bolts-head?   Fac. 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.   Fac. No, Sir? Buy
The covering off o' Churches.   Mam. That's true.   Fac. Yes.
Let 'em stand bare, as do their Auditory.
Or cap 'em, new, with Shingles.   Mam. No, good Thatch:
Thatch will lye light upo' 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 Mettals.   Fac. 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 Bleard-eyes
Have wak'd, to read your several Colours, Sir,
Of the pale Citron, the green Lyon, the Crow,
The Peacocks Tail, the plumed Swan.   Mam. And, lastly,
Thou hast descryed the Flower, the Sanguis Agni?
   Fac. Yes Sir.   Mam. Where's Master?   Fac. At's Pray-
      ers, 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.   Fac. Good, Sir.   Mam. But do you hear?
I'll geld you, Lungs.   Fac. 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?   Fac. 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 subtil Angles, to disperse,
And multiply the Figures, as I walk
Naked betweeen my Succubć. My Mists
I'll have of Perfume, vapor'd 'bout the Room,
To lose our selves in; and my Baths, like Pits
To fall into: from whence we will come forth,
And rowl 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.
   Fac. 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 meet Fools,
Eloquent Burgesses, and then my Poets
The same that writ so subtily 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, belye
Ladies, who are known most innocent, for them;
Those will I beg, to make me Eunuchs of:
And they shall fan me with Ten Estrich Tails
A piece, made in a Plume, to gather Wind.
We will be brave, Puffe, now we ha' the Med'cine.
My Meat shall all come in in Indian Shels,
Dishes of Agat set in Gold, and studded
With Emeralds, Saphirs, Hyacinths, and Rubies.
The Tongues of Carps, Dormise, and Camels Heels,
Boil'd i' the Spirit of Sol, and dissolv'd Pearl,
(Apicius Diet, 'gainst the Epilepsie)
And I will eat these Broaths with Spoons of Amber,

Headed

The Alchemist.

217

Headed with Diamant, and Carbuncle.
My Foot-boy shall eat Pheasants, calver'd Salmons,
Knots, Godwits, Lamprey's: I my self will have
The Beards of Barbels serv'd, in stead of Sallads;
Oil'd Mushromes; and the swelling unctuous Paps
Of a fat pregnant Sow, newly cut off,
Drest with an exquisite, and poynant Sauce;
For which, I'll say unto my Cook, There's Gold,
Go forth, and be a Knight.   Fac. Sir, I'll go look
A little, how it heightens.   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 Poyson.

Act II.    Scene III.

Mammon, Subtle, Surly, Face.

Ood morrow, Father.   Sub. Gentle Son, good morrow,
And to your Friend there. What is he, is with you?
   Mam. An Heritick, 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, 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 (Heaven I call to witness, with your self,
To whom I have pour'd my thoughts) in all my ends,
Have look'd no way, but unto publick 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 Catholick a Bliss, be sure,
A Curse will follow, yea, and overtake
Your subtle and most secret way.   Mam. I know, Sir,
You shall not need to fear me. I but come,
To ha' you confute this Gentleman.   Sur. Who is,
Indeed, Sir, somewhat caustive 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 Med'cine of the triple Soul,
The glorified Spirit. Thanks be to Heaven,
And make us worthy of it. Ulen spiegel.
   Fac. Anon, Sir.   Sub. Look well to the Register,
And let your heat still lessen by degrees,
To the Aludels.   Fac. Yes, Sir.   Sub. Did you look
O' the Bolts-head yet?   Fac. Which, on D. Sir?   Sub. I.
What's the Complexion?   Fac. Whitish.   Sub. Infuse Vinegar,
To draw his volatile substance, and his Tincture:
And let the Water in Glass E. be feltred,
And put into the Gripes egg. Lute him well;
And leave him clos'd in Balneo.   Fac. I will, Sir.

[column break]

   Sur. What a brave Language here is? next to canting?
   Sub. I' have another work, you never saw, Son,
That three days since past the Philosophers wheel,
In the lent heat of Athanor; and's become
Sulpher o'Nature.   Mam. But 'tis for me?   Sub. What
      need you?
You have enough, in that is perfect.   Mam! O, but —
   Sub. Why, this is covetise!   Mam. No, I assure you,
I shall employ it all in pious uses,
Founding of Colledges, and Grammar Schools,
Marrying young Virgins, building Hospitals,
And now, and then, a Church.   Sub. How now?
   Fac. Sir, please you,
Shall I not change the feltre?   Sub. Marry, yes.
And bring me the Complexion of Glass B.
   Mam. Ha' you another?   Sub. Yes, Son, were I assur'd
Your piety were firm, we would not want
The means to glorifie it. But I hope the best:
I mean to tinct C. in Sand-heat, to morrow,
And give him Imbibition.   Mam. Of white Oyl?
   Sub. No, Sir, of red. F. is come over the Helm too,
I thank my Maker, in S. Maries Bath,
And shews Lac Virginis. Blessed be Heaven.
I sent you of his fćces there calcin'd.
Out of that Calx, I' ha' won the Salt of Mercury,
   Mam. By powring on your rectified water?
   Sub. Yes, and reverberating in Athanor.
How now? What colour says it?   Fac. The ground
      black, Sir.
   Mam. That's your Crowes head?
   Sur. Your Cocks-comb's, 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?   Fac. Yes, Sir, and then married 'em,
And put 'em in a Bolts-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.
   Fac. 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. O, this Ferret
Is rank as any Pole-cat.)   Sub. But I care not.
Let him e'en dye; we have enough beside,
In Embrion. H. ha's his white shirt on?   Fac. Yes, Sir,
He's ripe for inceration: He stands warm,
In his Ash-fire. I would not, you should let
Any dye now, if I might counsel, Sir,
For lucks sake to the rest. It is not good.
   Mam: He says right.   Sur. I, are you bolted?
   Fac. Nay, I know't, Sir,
I' have seen th'ill Fortune. What is some three Ounces
Of fresh materials?   Mam. Is't no more?   Fac. No more, Sir,
Of Gold, t' Amalgame, with some six of Mercury.
   Mam. Away, here's Money. What will serve?
   Fac. 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 inferiour Works, are at fixation.
A third is in ascension. Go your ways.
Ha' you set the Oil of Luna in Kemia?
   Fac. Yes, Sir.   Sub. And the Philosophers Vinegar.   Fac. I.
   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;
And then dissolve him; then again congeal him;
For look, how oft I iterate the Work,
So many times I add unto his Vertue.

F f As,

218	The Alchemist.

As, if at first one Ounce covert a hundred,
After his second loose, he'll turn a thousand;
His third solution, ten; his fourth, a hundred.
After his fifth, a thousand thousand Ounces
Of any imperfect Metal, into pure
Silver or Gold, in all Examinations,
As good as any of the natural Mine.
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.
   Sub. 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 my self.
   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 hatch'd 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 ordain'd 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. I, 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. I, what is that?
   Sub. Marry, we say — Mam. I, now it heats: stand Father,
Pound him to dust — Sub. It is, of the one part,
A humid Exhalation, which we call
Materia liquida, or the unctuous Water;
On th' other part, a certain crass and viscous
Portion of Earth; both which, concorporate,
Do make the Elementary Matter of Gold;
Which is not yet propria materia,
But commune to all Metals, and all Stones.
For, where it is forsaken of that moisture,
And hath more driness, it becomes a Stone;
Where it retains more of the humid fatness,
It turns to Sulpher, or to Quicksilver,
Who are the Parents of all other Metals.
Nor can this remote Matter suddenly
Progress so from extreme unto extreme,
As to grow Gold, and leap o're all the Means.
Nature doth first beget th' imperfect, then
Proceeds she to the perfect. Of that aiery
And oily Water, Mercury is engendred;
Sulpher o' the fat and earthy part; the one
(Which is the last) supplying the place of Male,
The other of the Female, in all Metals.
Some do believe Hermaphrodeity,
That both do act and suffer. But these two
Make the rest ductile, malleable, extensive.
And even in Gold they are; for we do find
Seeds of them, by our Fire, and Gold in them;
And can produce the species of each Metal
More perfect thence, than Nature doth in Earth.
Beside, who doth not see, in daily practice,
Art can beget Bees, Hornets, Beetles, Wasps,
Out of the Carcasses and Dung of Creatures;
Yea, Scorpions of an Herb, being rightly plac'd?
And these are living Creatures, far more perfect
And excellent than Metals.   Mam. Well said, Father!
Nay, if he take you in hand, Sir, with an Argument,
He'll bray you in a Mortar.   Sur. Pray you, Sir, stay.

[column break]

Rather than I'll be bray'd, Sir, I'll believe
That Alchemy is a pretty kind of Game,
Somewhat like Tricks o' the Cards, to cheat a Man
With charming.   Sub. Sir?
   Sur. What else are all your Terms,
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 Sulpher, and your Mercury,
Your Oil of Height, your Tree of Life, your Blood,
Your Marchesite, your Tutie, your Magnesia,
Your Toade, your Crow, your Dragon, and your Panthar,
Your Sun, your Moon, 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 Materials,
Of Piss and Egg-shells, Womens Terms, Mans Blood,
Hair o' th' Head, burnt Clouts, Chalk, Merds, and Clay,
Powder of Bones, Scalings of Iron, Glass,
And Worlds of other strange Ingredients,
Would burst a Man to name?   Sub. And all these, nam'd,
Intending but one thing; which Art our Writers
Us'd to obscure their Art.   Mam. Sir, so I told him,
Because the simple Idiot should not learn it,
And make it vulgar.   Sub. Was not all the Knowledge
Of the Ćgyptians writ in mystick Symbols?
Speak not the Scriptures oft in Parables?
Are not the choicest Fables of the Poets,
That were the Fountains and first Springs of Wisdom,
Wrapt in perplexed Allegories?   Mam. I urg'd that,
And clear'd to him, that Sysiphus was damn'd
To roll the ceasless Stone, only because

[Doll is seen.

He would have ours common. Who is this?
God's precious — What do you mean? Go in, good Lady,
Let me intreat you. Where's this Varlet?   Fac. Sir?
   Sub. You very Knave! do you use me thus?
   Fac. Wherein, Sir?
   Sub. Go in, and see, you Traitor. Go.
   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;

[Face returns.

But ours the most ignorant. What now?
   Fac. 'Twas not my fault, Sir; she would speak with you.
   Sub. 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 hither ——
   Mam. Stay Man, what is she?   Fac. A Lords Sister, Sir.
(He'll be mad too.   Mam. I warrant thee.)
Why sent hither?
   Fac. Sir, to be cur'd.   Sur. Why Rascal!

[He goes out.

   Fac. Loe you. Here, Sir.
   Mam. 'Fore God, a Bradamante, a brave Piece.
   Sur. Heart, this is a Bawdy-house! I'll be burnt else.
   Mam. O, by this Light, no. Do not wrong him. H'is
Too scrupulous that way. It is his Vice.
No, h' is a rare Physician, do him right,
An excellent Paracelsian, and has done
Strange Cures with Mineral Physick. He deals all
With Spirits, he. He will not hear a word
Of Galen, or his tedious Recipe's.

[Face again.

How now, Lungs!
   Fac. Softly, Sir, speak softly. I meant
To ha' told your VVorship all. This must not hear.
   Mam. No, he will not be gull'd: let him alone.
   Fac. Y'are very right, Sir, she is a most rare Scholar,
And is gone mad with studying Braughton's VVorks.
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?

Fac. O,

The Alchemist.

219

   Fac. O, divers have run mad upon the conference.
I do not know, Sir: I am sent in haste,
To fetch a Viol.   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. Come here, Ulen,
One word.   Fac. I dare not, in good faith.
   Mam. Stay, knave.
   Fac. H' is extream angry that you saw her, Sir.
   Mam. Drink that. What is she when she's out of her fit?
   Fac. O, the most affablest creature, sir! so merry!
So pleasant! she'll mount you up, like Quick-silver,
Over the Helm; and circulate, like Oyl,
A very Vegetal: Discourse of State,
Of Mathematicks, Bawdry, any thing —
   Mam. Is she no way accessible? no means,
No trick, to give a man a taste of her —— wit —
Or so? — Ulen.   Fac. I'll come to you again, Sir.
   Mam. Surly, I did not think, one o'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 Letchery enough to pay for,
Without this Bait.   Mam. 'Heart, you abuse your self.
I know the Lady, and her Friends, and Means,
The Original of this Disaster. Her brother
H'as told me all.   Sur. And yet you ne're saw her
Till now?   Mam. O, yes, bur I forgot. I have (believe it)
One o' the treacherousest memories, I do think,
Of all mankind.   Sub. What call you her brother?
   Mam. My Lord ———
He wi' 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? And this be your Elixir,
Your lapis mineralis, and your lunary,
Give me your honest trick, yet, at Primero,
Or Gleek; and take your lutum sapientis,
Your menstruum simplex: I'll have Gold before you,
And with less danger of the Quick-silver,
Or the hot Sulphur.

[To Surly.

Fac. Here's one from Captain Face, Sir,
Desires you meet him i' the Temple-Church,
Some half hour hence, and upon earnest business.

[He whispers
Mammon.

Sir, if you please to quit us, now; and come
Again within two hours, you shall have
My Master busie 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 Captains Worship?   Sur. Sir, I will.
But, by Attorny, and to a second purpose.
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, h' is the most authentick Dealer
I' these commodities! The Superintendent
To all the quainter Traffickers in Town.
He is their Visitor, and does appoint,
Who lies with whom, and at what hour; what price;
VVhich Gown; and in what Smock; what Fall; what Tyre.
Him will I prove, by a third person, to find
The Subtilties of this dark Labyrinth:
VVhich, 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.
   Fac. Sir, He does pray, you'll not forget.
   Sur. I will not, Sir.

[column break]

Sir Epicure, I shall leave you?
   Mam. I follow you, straight.
   Fac. But do so, good Sir, to avoid 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 royal, with the Stone,
An Empress; and your self King of Bantam.
   Mam. Wilt thou do this?
   Fac. Will I, Sir?   Mam. Lungs, my Lungs!
I love thee.   Fac. Send your stuff, Sir, that my Master
May busie himself about projection.
   Mam. Th' hast witch'd me, Rogue: Take, go.
   Fac. 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.   Fac. 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 Lords Vermine of 'em all.   Fac. Away, Sir.
   Mam. A Count, nay, a Count-Palatine ——
   Fac. Good Sir, go.
   Mam. Shall not advance thee better: no, nor faster.

Act II.    Scene IV.

Subtle, Face, Dol.

As he bit? Has he bit?
   Fac. And swallow'd too, my Subtle.
I ha' giv'n him Line, and now he plays, yfaith.
   Sub. And shall we twitch him?
   Fac. Thorow 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 Wha'ts'hums Sister, you must now
Bear your self statelich.   Dol. O, 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.   Fac. Well said, Sanguine.
   Sub. But will he send his Andirons?
   Fac. His Jack too;
And's Iron shooing-horn: I ha' spoken to him. Well,
I must not lose my wary Gamester, yonder.
   Sub. O Monsieur Caution, that will not be gull'd?
   Fac. I, 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:
'Pray God it be my Anabaptist. Who is't, Dol?
   Dol. I know him not. He looks like a Gold-end-man.
   Sub. Gods 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, help me off, first, with my Gown. Away
Madam, to your withdrawing 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 use him
In some strange fashion, now, to make him admire me.

F f 2 Act

220	The Alchemist.

Act II. Scene V.

Subtle, Face, Ananias.

Here is my drudge?   Fac. Sir.
   Sub. Take away the Recipient,
And rectifie your Menstrue from the Phlegma.
Then pour it o' the Sol, in the Cucurbite,
And let 'em macerate together.   Fac. Yes, Sir.
And save the ground?   Sub. No. Terra damnata
Must not have entrance in the work. Who are you?
   Ana. A faithful Brother, if it please you.
   Sub. What's that?
A Lullianist? a Ripley? Filius artis?
Can you sublime and dulcifie? calcine?
Know you the Sapor Pontick? Sapor Styptick?
Or what is homogene, or heterogene?
   Ana. I understand no Heathen language, truly.
   Sub. Heathen, you Knipper-Doling? Is Ars Sacra,
Or Chrysopśia, 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.
   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.   Fac. Sir, Putrefaction,
Solution, Ablution, Sublimation,
Cohobation, Calcination, Ceration, and
Fixation.   Sub. This is Heathen Greek, to you, now?
And when comes Vivification?   Fac. After Mortification.
   Sub. What's Cohobation?   Fac. 'Tis the pouring on
Your Aqua Regis, and then drawing him off,
To the Trine Circle of the Seven Sphears.
   Sub. What's the proper passion of Metals?
   Fac. Malleation.
   Sub. What's your ultimum supplicium auri?
   Fac. Antimonium.
   Sub. This's Heathen Greek to you? And what's your Mercury?
   Fac. A very fugitive, he will be gone, Sir.
   Sub. How know you him?   Fac. By his Viscositie,
His Oleosity, and his Suscitability.
   Sub. How do you sublime him?
   Fac. With the calce of Egg-shells,
White Marble, Chalk.   Sub. Your Magisterium, now?
What's that?   Fac. Shifting, Sir, your Elements,
Dry into cold, cold into moist, moist in-
to hot, hot into dry.
   Sub. That's Heathen Greek to you still?
Your Lapis Philosophicus?   Fac. 'Tis a Stone, and not
A Stone; a Spirit, a Soul, and a Body:
Which if you do dissolve, it is dissolv'd;
If you coagulate, it is coagulated;
If you make it to fly, it flieth.   Sub. Enough.
This's 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. O, 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 Kitchin-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,
And if their Parents were not of the faithful?

[column break]

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. Yo' have had,
For the Instruments, as Bricks, and Lome, and Glasses,
Already thirty pound; 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 attonement for you, quickly,
And gi' me satisfaction; or outgoes
The fire: and down th' Alembeks, and the fornace.
Piger Henricus, or what not. Thou wretch,
Both Sericon, and Bufo, 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,
Terreity, and Sulphureity
Shall run together again, and all be annull'd,
Thou wicked 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.

Act II.    Scene VI.

Face, Subtle, Drugger.

'Is busie with his Spirits, but we'll upon him.
   Sub. How now! What mates? What Baiards ha'
            we here?
   Fac. I told you, he would be furious. Sir, here's Nab,
Has brought you another piece of Gold to look on:
(We must appease him. Give it me) and prays you,
You would devise (what is it Nab?)   Dru. A sign, Sir.
   Fac. I, a good lucky one, a thriving sign, Doctor.
   Sub. I was devising now.
   Fac. (Slight, do not say so,
He will repent he ga' you any more.)
What say you to his Constellation, Doctor?
The Ballance?
   Sub. No, that way is stale, and common.
A Townsman born in Taurus, gives the Bull;
Or the Bulls-head: In Aries, the Ram.
A poor device. No, I will have his Name
Form'd in some mystick 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 —   Fac. Nab!
   Sub. He first shall have a Bell, that's Abel;
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. That's his sign.
And here's now Mystery, and Hieroglyphick!
   Fac. Abel, thou art made.
   Dru. Sir, I do thank his Worship.
   Fac. Six o'thy legs more will not do it, Nab.
He has brought you a Pipe of Tobacco, Doctor.
   Dru. Yes, Sir:
I have another thing I would impart —
   Fac. Out with it, Nab.

Dru.

The Alchemist.

221

   Dru. Sir, there is lodg'd, hard by me
A rich young Widow — Fac. Good! a bona roba?
   Dru. But Nineteen at the most.
   Fac. Very good, Abel.
   Dru. Marry, sh'is not in fashion yet; she wears
A hood; but 't stands acop.   Fac. No matter, Abel.
   Dru. And I do now and then give her a fucus —
   Fac. What! dost thou deal, Nab?
   Sub. I did tell you, Captain.
   Dru. And Physick too sometime, Sir: for which she trusts me
With all her mind. She's come up here of purpose
To learn the Fashion.
   Fac. Good (his match too!) on, Nab.
   Dru. And she do's strangely long to know her fortune.
   Fac. Gods lid, Nab, send her to the Doctor hither.
   Dru. Yes, I have spoke to her of his Worship already:
But she's afraid it will be blown abroad,
And hurt her Marriage.   Fac. 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 their multitude of Suitors:
Send her, it may be thy good fortune. What?
Thou dost not know.   Dru. No, Sir, she'll never marry
Under a Knight. Her Brother has made a Vow.
   Fac. What, and dost thou dispair, 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?
   Dru. No, Sir, a Gentleman newly warm in 'his land, Sir,
Scarce cold in his one and twenty, that do's 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 Countrey.
   Fac. How! to quarrel?
   Dru. Yes, Sir, to carry Quarrels,
As Gallants do, and manage 'em by Line.
   Fac. 'Slid, Nab! The Doctor is the only man
In Christendom for him. He has made a Table,
VVith Mathematical Demonstrations,
Touching the Art of Quarrels. He will give him
An Instrument to quarrel by. Go, bring 'em both,
Him and his Sister. And, for thee, with her
The Doctor happ'ly may perswade. Go to.
'Shat give his VVorship a new Damask Suit
Upon the premisses.
   Sub. O, good Captain.   Fac. He shall,
He is the honestest fellow, Doctor. Stay not,
No Offers, bring the Damask, and the Parties.
   Dru. I'll try my power, Sir.
   Fac. And thy will too, Nab.
   Sub. 'Tis good Tobacco, this! what is't an Ounce?
   Fac. He'll send you a pound, Doctor.
   Sub. O, no.   Fac. He will do't.
It is the goodest Soul. Abel, about it.
(Thou shalt know more anon. Away, be gone.)
A miserable Rogue, and lives with Cheese,
And has the worms. That was the Cause indeed
VVhy he came now. He dealt with me in private,
To get a Med'cine for 'em.
   Sub. And shall, Sir. This works.
   Fac. A wife, a wife for one on'us, my dear Subtle:
VVe'll e'ne draw lots, and he that fails, shall have
The more in Goods, the other has in Tail.
   Sub. Rather the less. For she may be so light
She may want Grains.
   Fac. I, or be such a burden,
A man would scarce endure her for the whole.
   Sub. Faith, best let's see her first, and then determine.
   Fac. Content. But Dol must ha' no breath on't.
   Sub. Mum.

[column break]

Away, you to your Surly yonder, catch him.
   Fac. 'Pray God I ha' not staid too long.
   Sub. I fear it.

Act III. Scene I.

Tribulation, Ananias.

Hese chastisements are common to the Saints,
And such rebukes we of the separation
Must bear, with willing shoulders, as the trials
Sent forth to tempt our frailties.
   Ana. In pure Zeal
I do not like the man, He is a Heathen,
And speaks the Language of Canaan, truly.
   Tri. I think him a prophane person indeed.
   Ana. He bears
The visible mark of the Beast in his fore-head.
And for his stone, it is a work of darkness,
And with Philosophy blinds the eyes of man.
   Tri. Good Brother, we must bend unto all means
That may give furtherance to the holy Cause.
   Ana. Which his cannot: The sanctified Cause
Should have a sanctified Course.
   Tri. Not always necessary:
The Children of Perdition are oft-times
Made Instruments even of the greatest works.
Beside, we should give somewhat to mans nature,
The place he lives in, still about the fire,
And fume of Metals, that intoxicate
The brain of man, and make him prone to Passion.
Where have you greater Atheists than your Cooks?
Or more prophane, or cholerick, than your Glass-men?
More Antichristian than your Bell-founders?
What makes the Devil so devillish, I would ask you,
Sathan, our common Enemy, but his being
Perpetually about the fire, and boiling
Brimstone and Arsnick? We must give, I say,
Unto the motives, and the stirrers up
Of Humors in the blood. It may be so.
When as the work is done, the stone is made,
This heat of his may turn into a Zeal,
And stand up for the beauteous discipline,
Against the menstruous Cloth, and Rag of Rome.
We must await his calling, and the coming
Of the good Spirit. You did fault, t'upbraid him
With the Brethrens blessing of Heidelberg, weighing
What need we have to hasten on the work,
For the restoring of the silenc'd Saints,
Which ne'er will be, but by the Philosophers Stone.
And so a learned Elder, one of Scotland,
Assur'd me; Aurum potabile being
The only Med'cine, for the civil Magistrate,
T'incline him to a feeling of the Cause;
And must be daily us'd in the Disease.
   Ana. I have not edified more, truly, by Man;
Not since the beautiful light first shone on me:
And I am sad my Zeal hath so offended.
   Tri. Let us call on him then.
   Ana. The motion's good,
And of the Spirit; I will knock first: Peace be within.

Act III.    Scene II.

Subtle, Tribulation, Ananias.

' Are you come? 'Twas time. Your threescore minutes
Were at last thread, you see; and down had gone
Furnus acedić, Turris circulatorius:
Lembek, Bolts-head, Retort, and Pellicane
Had all been cinders. Wicked Ananias!
Art thou return'd? Nay then, it goes down yet.

Tri.

222	The Alchemist.

   Tri. Sir, be appeased, he is come to humble
Himself in Spirit, and to ask your patience,
If too much Zeal hath carried him aside
From the due path.   Sub. Why, this doth qualifie!
   Tri. The Brethren had no purpose, verily,
To give you the least Grievance: but are ready
To lend their willing hands to any project
The Spirit and you direct.
   Sub. This qualifies more!
   Tri. And for the Orphans Goods, let them be valu'd,
Or what is needful else to the holy work,
It shall be numbred; here, by me, the Saints
Throw down their Purse before you.
   Sub. This qualifies most!
Why, thus it should be, now you understand.
Have I discours'd so unto you of our Stone,
And of the good that it shall bring your Cause?
Shew'd you, (beside the main of hiring Forces
Abroad, drawing the Hollanders, your Friends,
From th' Indies, to serve you, with all their Fleet)
That even the med'cinal use shall make you a Faction,
And Party in the Realm? As, put the case,
That some great man in State, he have the Gout,
Why, you but send three drops of your Elixir,
You help him straight: there you have made a friend.
Another has the Palsie, or the Dropsie,
He takes of your incombustible stuff,
He's young again: there you have made a friend.
A Lady that is past the feat of body,
Tho not of mind, and hath her Face decay'd
Beyond all cure of Paintings, you restore
With the Oyl of Talek; there you have made a friend:
And all her friends. A Lord that is a Leper,
A Knight that has the Bone-ach, or a Squire
That hath both these, you make 'em smooth and sound,
With a bare fricace of your Med'cine: still
You increase your friends.
   Tri. I, 'tis very pregnant.
   Sub. And then the turning of this Lawyer's Pewter
To Plate at Christmass ——
   Ana. Christ-tide, I pray you.
   Sub. Yet Ananias?
   Ana. I have done.   Sub. Or changing
His parcel gilt to massie Gold. You cannot
But raise your friends. Withal, to be of power
To pay an Army in the field, to buy
The King of France out of his Realms, or Spain
Out of his Indies. What can you not do
Against Lords spiritual or temporal,
That shall oppone you?   Tri. Verily 'tis true.
We may be temporal Lords our selves, I take it.
   Sub. You may be any thing, and leave off to make
Long-winded Exercises: or suck up
Your ha, and hum, in a tune. I not deny,
But such as are not graced in a State,
May, for their Ends, be adverse in Religion,
And get a tune to call the Flock together:
For (to say sooth) a tune does much with women,
And other phlegmatick people, it is your Bell.
   Ana. Bells are prophane: a tune may be religious.
   Sub. No warning with you? Then farewel my patience.
'Slight, it shall down: I will not be thus tortur'd.
   Tri. I pray you, Sir.
   Sub. All shall perish. I have spoke it.
   Tri. Let me find Grace, Sir, in your eyes; the man
He stands corrected: neither did his zeal
(But as your self) allow a tune somewhere.
Which now being to'ard the Stone, we shall not need.
   Sub. No, nor your holy Vizard, to win widows
To give you Legacies; or make zealous wives
To rob their husbands for the Common Cause:
Nor take the start of Bonds broke but one day,
And say, they were forfeited by Providence.
Nor shall you need o're night to eat huge meals,

[column break]

To celebrate your next days Fast the better:
The whilst the Brethren and the Sisters humbled,
Abate the stiffness of the flesh. Nor cast
Before your hungry Hearers scrupulous Bones;
As whether a Christian may hawk or hunt,
Or whether Matrons of the Holy Assembly
May lay their Hair out, or wear Doublets;
Or have that Idol Starch about their Linnen.
   Ana. It is indeed an Idol.
   Tri. Mind him not, Sir.
I do command thee, Spirit (of zeal, but trouble)
To peace within him. Pray you, Sir, go on.
   Sub. Nor shall you need to libel 'gainst the Prelates,
And shorten so your Ears against the hearing
Of the next wire-drawn Grace. Nor of necessity
Rail against Plays, to please the Alderman,
Whose daily Custard you devour. Nor lie
With zealous Rage till you are hoarse. Not one
Of these so singular Arts. Nor call your selves
By Names of Tribulation, Persecution,
Restraint, Long-Patience, and such like affected
By the whole family, or wood of you,
Only for Glory, and to catch the Ear
Of the Disciple.   Tri. Truly, Sir, they are
Ways that the Godly Brethren have invented
For propagation of the Glorious Cause,
As very notable means, and whereby also
Themselves grow soon, and profitably famous.
   Sub. O, but the Stone, all's idle to't! nothing!
The Art of Angels, Natures Miracle,
The Divine Secret that doth fly in Clouds
From East to West; and whose tradition
Is not from Men, but Spirits.
   Ana. I hate Traditions:
I do not trust them —   Tri. Peace.
   Ana. They are Popish, all.
I will not peace. I will not —   Tri. Ananias!
   Ana. Please the prophane, to grieve the godly: I may not.
   Sub. Well, Ananias, thou shalt over-come.
   Tri. It is an ignorant zeal that haunts him, Sir.
But truly, else, a very faithful Brother,
A Botcher: and a man, by revelation,
That hath a competent knowledge of the truth.
   Sub. Has he a competent sum there i' the Bag
To buy the Goods within? I am made Guardian,
And must, for Charity and Conscience sake,
Now see the most be made for my poor Orphan:
Tho I desire the Brethren too, good Gainers.
There they are within. When you have view'd, and
   bought 'em.
And tane the Inventory of what they are,
They are ready for Projection; there's no more
To do: Cast on the Med'cine, so much Silver
As there is Tin there, so much Gold as Brass,
I'll gi' it you in by weight.   Tri. But how long time,
Sir, must the Saints expect yet?   Sub. Let me see,
How's the Moon now? Eight, nine, ten days hence
He will be Silver Potate; then three days
Before he Citronise: some fifteen days
The Magisterium will be perfected.
   Ana. About the second day of the third week,
In the ninth month?   Sub. Yes, my good Ananias.
   Tri. What will the Orphans Goods arise to, think you?
   Sub. Some hundred Marks, as much as fill'd three Cars,
Unladed now: you'll make six Millions of 'em.
But I must ha' more Coals laid in.
   Tri. How!   Sub. Another Load,
And then we have finish'd. We must now increase
Our fire to Ignis ardens, we are past
Fimus equinus, Balnei Cineris,
And all those lenter heats. If the holy Purse
Should with this draught fall low, and that the Saints
Do need a present sum, I have a trick

The Alchemist.

223

To melt the Pewter, you shall buy now, instantly,
And with a tincture make you as good Dutch Dollars
As any are in Holland.   Tri. Can you so?
   Sub. I, and shall 'bide the third Examination.
   Ana. It will be joyful tidings to the Brethren.
   Sub. But you must carry it secret.   Tri. I, but stay,
This act of coyning, is it lawful?   Ana. Lawful?
We know no Magistrate. Or, if we did,
This 's forreign Coin.
   Sub. It is no coining, Sir.
It is but casting.   Tri. Ha? you distinguish well.
Casting of Money may be lawful.   Ana. 'Tis, Sir.
   Tri. Truly, I take it so.
   Sub. There is no scruple,
Sir, to be made of it; believe Ananias:
This Case of Conscience he is studied in.
   Tri. I'll make a question of it to the Brethren.
   Ana. The Brethren shall approve it lawful, doubt not.
Where shall it be done?

(Knock without.

Sub. For that we'll talk anon.
There's some to speak with me. Go in, I pray you,
And view the parcels. That's the Inventory.
I'll come to you straight. Who is it? Face! Appear.

Act III. Scene III.

Subtle, Face, Dol.

Ow now? Good Prize?
   Fac. Good Pox! Yond' caustive Cheater
Never came on.   Sub. How then?
   Fac. I ha' walk'd the round
Till now, and no such thing.
   Sub. And ha' you quit him?
   Fac. Quit him? an hell would quit him too, he were happy.
'Slight would you have me stalk like a Mill-Jade,
All day, for one that will not yield us Grains?
I know him of old.   Sub. O, but to ha' gull'd him,
Had been a maistry.   Fac. Let him go, black Boy,
And turn thee, that some fresh news may possess thee.
A Noble Count, a Don of Spain (my dear
Delicious Compeer, and my Party-bawd)
Who is come hither, private for his Conscience,
And brought Munition with him, six great Sloops,
Bigger than three Dutch Hoys, beside round trunks,
Furnish'd with Pistolets, and Pieces of Eight,
Will streight be here, my Rogue, to have thy Bath,
(That is the colour) and to make his Battry
Upon our Dol, our Castle, our Cinque-Port,
Our Dover Pire, our what thou wilt. Where is she?
She must prepare Perfumes, delicate Linnen,
The Bath in chief, a Banquet, and her Wit,
For she must milk his Epididymis.
Where is the Doxy?   Sub. I'll send her to thee:
And but dispatch my Brace of little John Leydens,
And come again my self.   Fac. Are they within then?
   Sub. Numbring the sum.   Fac. How much?
   Sub. A hundred Marks, Boy.
   Fac. Why, this's a lucky day! Ten pounds of Mammon!
Three o' my Clark! A Portague o' my Grocer!
This o' the Brethren! beside Reversions,
And States to come i' the Widow, and my Count!
My share to day will not be bought for forty —
   Dol. What?
   Fac. Pounds, dainty Dorothee, art thou so near?
   Dol. Yes, say Lord General, how fares our Camp?
   Fac. As with the few that had intrench'd themselves
Safe, by their Discipline, against a world, Dol.
And laugh'd within those Trenches, and grew fat
With thinking on