"Dispensing for the pox, and plaguy houses, "Reaching his dose, walking Moorfields for lepers, "Searching the spittal, to make old bawds young; "And the highways, for beggars to make rich: "I see no end of my labours. He will make "Nature asham'd of her long sleep; when art, "Who's but a step dame, shall do more than she," He's, in belief of chymistry, so bold, If his dream last, he'll turn the age to gold. Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE 1. MAMMON and SURLY. Mammon. COME on, sir. Now you set your foot on shore And there within, sir, are the golden mines, I will pronounce the happy word, Be rich. And have your punques, and punquetees, my Surly, Face. [Within.] Sir, he'll come to you, by and by. Mam. That's his fire-drake. His lungs, his Zephirus, he that puffs his coals, Till he firk Nature up in her own centre. You are doubtful, sir. This night, I'll change And, early in the morning, will I send And buy their tin, and lead up; and to Lothbury, 20 Sur. What, and turn that too? Mam. Yes, and I'll purchase Devonshire and Cornwall, And make them perfect Indies! you admire now? Sur. No faith. Mam. But when you see the effects of the great medicine, You will believe me. Sur. Yes, when I see't, I will. Mam. Why? Do you think, I fable with you? I assure you, He that has once the Flower of the Sun, The perfect ruby, which we call Elixir, Not only can do that, but by its virtue, To whom he will. In eight and twenty days, Mam. Nay, I mean, Restore his years, renew him, like an eagle, 40 To the fifth age; make him get sons and daughters, Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids. Sur. The decay'd vestals of Drury-Lane would thank you, That keep the fire alive there. Mam. 'Tis the secret Of Nature, naturiz'd 'gainst all infections, A month's grief in a day; a year's in twelve : Past all the doses of your drugging doctors. Sur. Faith I have a humour, I would not willingly be gull'd. Your Stone Mam. Surly, Will you believe antiquity? Records? I'll shew you a book, where Moses, and his sister, And Solomon, have written of the art; Ay, and a treatise penn'd by Adam. Sur. How! 60 Mam. O' the Philosopher's Stone, and in High Sur. Did Adam, write, sir, in High Dutch? Which proves it was the primitive tongue? How now? Enter FACE. Do we succeed; Is our day come? and holds it? Face. The evening will set red upon you, sir : You have colour for it, crimson: the red ferment Has done his office; three hours hence, prepare you To see projection. Mam. My Surly, Again, I say to thee, aloud, Be rich; This day, thou shalt have ingots; and, to-morrow, Give lords th' affront. Is it, my Zephirus, right ? Blushes the bolt's-head? Face. Like a wench with child, sir, That were, but now, discover'd to her master. Face. No, sir? Buy The covering off o' churches. Mam. That's true. Face. Yes, Let them stand bare, as do their auditory; Mam. No, good thatch : Thatch will lie light upon the rafters, Lungs. Face. I have blown, sir, Hard for your worship; these blear'd eyes Thou hast descry'd the flower. Face. Yes, sir, 80 100 Mam. Where's master? Face. At his prayers, sir: he, Good man, he's doing his devotions, For the success. Mam. Lungs, I will set a period To all thy labours: thou shalt be the master Face. Good, "sir. "Mam. But do you hear? "I'll geld you, Lungs. "Face. Yes," sir. Mam. For I do mean To have a list of wives and concubines, Face. Both blood and spirit, sir. Mam. I will have all my beds blown up; not stuff'd; Down is too hard. (Is it arriv'd at ruby?) 120 Where I spy A wealthy citizen, or a rich lawyer, Have a sublim'd pure wife, unto that fellow I'll send a thousand pounds, to be my cuckold. Mam. No, I'll have no bawds, But fathers and mothers. They will do it best, |