SCENE III.[1870

MAMMON, SURLY. [_Enter_] SUBTLE.

_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[1871] point, prevent[1872] your day at morning. 6 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, 11 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, 15 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 20 So great and catholic a bliss, be sure A curse will follow, yea, and overtake Your subtle and most secret ways.

_Mam._ I know, sir; You shall not need to fear me; I but come To ha’ you confute this gentleman.

_Sur._ Who is, 25 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 med’cine of the triple soul, 30 The glorified spirit. Thanks be to heaven, And make us worthy of it!—=Ulen Spiegel!=[1873]

_Face._ [_within._] Anon, sir.

_Sub._ Look well to the register. And let your heat still lessen by degrees, To the aludels.[1874] 35

_Face._ [_within._] Yes, sir.

_Sub._ Did you look O’ the bolt’s head yet?

_Face._ [_within._] Which? On D, sir?

_Sub._ Ay; What’s the complexion?

_Face._ [_within._] Whitish.

_Sub._ Infuse vinegar, 40 To draw his volatile substance and his tincture: And let the water in glass E be filt’red, And put into the gripe’s egg.[1875] Lute[1876] him well; And leave him clos’d _in balneo_.[1877]

_Face._ [_within._] I will, sir.

_Sur._ What a brave language here is! next to canting.[1878] 45

_Sub._ I have another work you never saw, son, That three days since past the philosopher’s wheel, In the lent heat of Athanor;[1879] and ’s become Sulphur o’ Nature.

_Mam._ But ’tis for me?

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

_Mam._ O, but—— 50

_Sub._ Why, this is covetise!

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

[_Re-enter_ FACE.]

_Sub._ How now!

_Face._ Sir, please you, 55 Shall I not change the filter?

_Sub._ Marry, yes; And bring me the complexion of glass B. [_Exit_ FACE.]

_Mam._ Ha’ you another?

_Sub._ Yes, son; were I assur’d Your piety were firm, we would not want The means to glorify it: but I hope the best. 60 I mean to tinct C in sand-heat to-morrow, And give him imbibition.[1880]

_Mam._ Of white oil?

_Sub._ No, sir, of red. F is come over the helm too, I thank my maker, in S. Mary’s bath. And shows _lac virginis_. Blessed be heaven! 65 I sent you of his faeces there calcin’d: Out of that calx, I ha’ won the salt of mercury.

_Mam._ By pouring on your rectified water?

_Sub._ Yes, and reverberating in Athanor. [_Re-enter_ FACE.] How now! what colour says it?

_Face._ The ground black, sir. 70

_Mam._ That’s your crow’s head?

_Sur._ Your cock’s comb’s, is it not?

_Sub._ No, ’t is not perfect. Would it were the crow! That work wants something.

_Sur._ [_Aside._] O, I look’d for this, The hay’s[1881] a pitching.

_Sub._ Are you sure you loos’d ’em In their own menstrue?[1882]

_Face._ Yes, sir, and then married ’em, 75 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. 79

_Face._ Yes, by the token, sir, the retort brake, And what was sav’d was put into the pellican, And sign’d with Hermes’ seal.

_Sub._ I think ’t was so. We should have a new amalgama.

_Sur._ [_Aside._] O, this ferret Is rank as any polecat.

_Sub._ But I care not; Let him e’en die; we have enough beside, 85 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. 90

_Mam._ He says right.

_Sur._ (_Aside._) Ay, are you bolted?

_Face._ Nay, I know ’t, sir, I ’ve seen th’ ill fortune. What is some three ounces Of fresh materials?

_Mam._ Is ’t no more?

_Face._ No more, sir, Of gold, t’ amalgam with some six of mercury.

_Mam._ Away, here’s money. What will serve?

_Face._ Ask him, sir. 94

_Mam._ How much?

_Sub._ Give him nine pound: you may gi’ him ten.

_Sur._ Yes, twenty, and be cozen’d, do.

_Mam._ There ’t is. [_Gives_ FACE _the money_.]

_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, 100 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. [_Exit._]

_Sur._ We shall have a salad!

_Mam._ When do you make projection?

_Sub._ Son, be not hasty, I exalt our med’cine, By hanging him _in balneo vaporoso_, 105 And giving him solution; then congeal him; And then dissolve him; then again congeal him; For look, how oft I iterate the work, So many times I add unto his virtue. 110 As, if at first one ounce convert 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 115 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; 120 We ’ll change all metals.

_Sur._ I believe you in that.

_Mam._ Then I may send my spits?

_Sub._ Yes, and your racks.

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

_Sub._ If he please.

_Sur._ —To be an ass. 124

_Sub._ How, sir!

_Mam._ This gent’man you must bear withal. I told you he had no faith.

_Sur._ And little hope, sir; But much less charity, should I gull myself.

_Sub._ Why, what have you observ’d, sir, in our art, Seems so impossible?

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

_Sub._ Sir, do you 131 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. 135 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._ Ay, for ’t were absurd 140 To think that nature in the earth bred gold Perfect i’ the instant: something went before. There must be remote matter.

_Sur._ Ay, what is that?

_Sub._ Marry, we say——

_Mam._ Ay, now it heats: stand, father, Pound him to dust.

_Sub._ It is, of the one part, 145 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; 150 Which is not yet _proprio materia_, But common to all metals and all stones; For, where it is forsaken of that moisture, And hath more dryness, it becomes a stone: Where it retains more of the humid fatness, 155 It turns to sulphur, or to quicksilver, Who are the parents of all other metals. Nor can this remote matter suddenly Progress so from extreme unto extreme, 159 As to grow gold, and leap o’er all the means. Nature doth first beget th’ imperfect, then Proceeds she to the perfect. Of that airy And oily water, mercury is engend’red; Sulphur o’ the fat and earthy part; the one, 164 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 170 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, 175 Out of the carcases 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, 180 He ’ll bray you in a mortar.

_Sur._ Pray you, sir, stay. 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, 185 Whereon no one o’ your writers ’grees with other? Of your elixir, your _lac virginis_, Your stone, your med’cine, and your chrysosperm, Your sal, your sulphur, and your mercury, 189 Your oil of height, your tree of life, your blood, Your marchesite, your tutie, your magnesia, Your toad, your crow, your dragon, and your panther; Your sun, your moon, your firmament, your adrop, Your lato, azoch, zernich, chibrit, heautarit, 194 And then your red man, and your white woman, With all your broths, your menstrues, and materials Of piss and egg-shells, women’s terms, man’s blood, Hair o’ the head, burnt clouts, chalk, merds, and clay, Powder of bones, scalings of iron, glass, And worlds of other strange ingredients, 200 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[1883] the simple idiot should not learn it, And make it vulgar.

_Sub._ Was not all the knowledge 205 Of the Aegyptians writ in mystic 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, 210 And clear’d to him, that Sisyphus was damn’d To roll the ceaseless stone, only because He would have made ours common. (DOL _is seen_) [_at the door._]—Who is this?

_Sub._ God’s precious!—What do you mean? Go in, good lady. Let me entreat you. [DOL _retires_.]—Where ’s this varlet?

[_Re-enter_ FACE.]

_Face._ Sir. 215

_Sub._ You very knave! do you use me thus?

_Face._ Wherein, sir?

_Sub._ Go in and see, you traitor. Go! [_Exit_ FACE.]

_Mam._ Who is it, sir?

_Sub._ Nothing, sir; nothing.

_Mam._ What ’s the matter, good sir? I have not seen you thus distemp’red: who is ’t?

_Sub._ All arts have still had, sir, their adversaries; 220 But ours the most ignorant.— FACE _returns_. What now?

_Face._ ’T was not my fault, sir; she would speak with you.

_Sub._ Would she, sir! Follow me. [_Exit._]

_Mam._ [_stopping him._] Stay, Lungs.

_Face._ I dare not, sir.

_Mam._ How! pray thee, stay.

_Face._ She ’s mad, sir, and sent hither— 225

_Mam._ Stay, man; what is she?

_Face._ A lord’s sister, sir. He ’ll be mad too.—

_Mam._ I warrant thee.—Why sent hither?

_Face._ Sir, to be cur’d.

_Sub._ [_within._] Why, rascal!

_Face._ Lo you!—Here, sir! _Exit._

_Mam._ ’Fore God, a Bradamante, a brave piece.

_Sur._ Heart, this is a bawdy-house! I ’ll be burnt else. 230

_Mam._ O, by this light, no: do not wrong him. He ’s Too scrupulous that way: it is his vice. No, he ’s a rare physician, do him right, An excellent Paracelsian, and has done Strange cures with mineral physic. He deals all With spirits, he; he will not hear a word 236 Of Galen; or his tedious recipes.— FACE _again_. How now, Lungs!

_Face._ Softly, sir; speak softly. I meant To ha’ told your worship all. This must not hear.

_Mam._ No, he will not be gull’d; let him alone.

_Face._ You ’re very right, sir; she is a most rare scholar, 241 And is gone mad with studying Broughton’s[1884] works. If you but name a word touching the Hebrew, She falls into her fit, and will discourse So learnedly of genealogies, 245 As you would run mad too, to hear her, sir.

_Mam._ How might one do t’ have conference with her. Lungs?

_Face._ O, divers have run mad upon the conference. I do not know, sir: I am sent in haste To fetch a vial.

_Sur._ Be not gull’d. Sir Mammon. 250

_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.

_Face._ I dare not, in good faith. [_Going._]

_Mam._ Stay, knave.

_Face._ He ’s extreme angry that you saw her, sir. 255

_Mam._ Drink that. [_Gives him money._] What is she when she ’s out of her fit?

_Face._ O, the most affablest creature, sir! so merry! So pleasant! She ’ll mount you up, like quicksilver, Over the helm; and circulate like oil, A very vegetal: discourse of state, 260 Of mathematics, bawdry, anything——

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

[_Sub. within._] =Ulen!=

_Face._ I ’ll come to you again, sir. [_Exit._]

_Mam._ Surly, I did not think one o’ your breeding 266 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 lechery enough to pay for, 270 Without this bait.

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

_Sur._ And yet you ne’er saw her Till now! 275

_Mam._ O yes, but I forgot. I have, believe it, One o’ the treacherous’st memories, I do think, Of all mankind.

_Sur._ 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—— 280

_Sur._ Tut, if you ha’ it not about you, pass it Till we meet next.

_Mam._ Nay, by this hand, ’t is 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, 285 A wise sir, too, at other times, should thus, With his own oaths, and arguments, make hard means To gull himself? An this be your elixir, Your _lapis mineralis_, and your lunary, Give me your honest trick yet at primero, 290 Or gleek,[1885] and take your _lutum sapientis_, Your _menstruum simplex_! I ’ll have gold before you, And with less danger of the quicksilver, Or the hot sulphur.

[_Re-enter_ FACE.]

_Face._ Here ’s one from Captain Face, sir. (_To_ SURLY.) 295 Desires you meet him i’ the Temple-church, Some half-hour hence, and upon earnest business. Sir, (_whispers_ MAMMON) if you please to quit us now, and come Again within two hours, you shall have My master busy examining o’ the works; 300 And I will steal you in unto the party, That you may see her converse.—Sir, shall I say You ’ll meet the captain’s worship?

_Sur._ Sir, I will.— [_Walks aside._] But, by attorney, and to a second purpose. Now, I am sure it is a bawdy-house; 305 I ’ll swear it, were the marshal here to thank me: The naming this commander doth confirm it. Don Face! why, he ’s the most authentic dealer I’ these commodities, the superintendent To all the quainter traffickers in town! 310 He is the visitor, and does appoint Who lies with whom, and at what hour; what price; Which gown, and in what smock; what fall;[1886] what tire.[1887] Him will I prove, by a third person, to find The subtleties of this dark labyrinth: 315 Which if I do discover, dear Sir Mammon, You ’ll give your poor friend leave, though no philosopher, To laugh; for you that are, ’t is thought, shall weep.

_Face._ Sir, he does pray you ’ll not forget.

_Sur._ I will not, sir. Sir Epicure, I shall leave you. [_Exit._]

_Mam._ I follow you straight, 320

_Face._ But do so, good sir, to avoid suspicion. This gent’man has a parlous head.

_Mam._ But wilt thou, =Ulen=, Be constant to thy promise?

_Face._ As my life, sir.

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

_Face._ O, what else, sir? 325 And that you ’ll make her royal with the stone, An empress; and yourself King of Bantam.

_Mam._ Wilt thou do this?

_Face._ Will I, sir!

_Mam._ Lungs, my Lungs! I love thee.

_Face._ Send your stuff, sir, that my master May busy himself about projection. 330

_Mam._ Thou ’st witch’d me, rogue: take, go. [_Gives him money._]

_Face._ Your jack, and all, sir.

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

_Face._ Not I, sir!

_Mam._ Come, I was born to make thee, my good weasel, 325 Set thee on a bench, and ha’ thee twirl a chain With the best lord’s vermin of ’em all.

_Face._ Away, sir.

_Mam._ A count, nay, a count palatine——

_Face._ Good sir, go.

_Mam._ Shall not advance thee better: no, nor faster. [_Exit._]