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Sur. The decay'd vestals of Drury-Lane would

thank you,

That keep the fire alive there.

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

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

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

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

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

Mam. He did.
Which proves it was the primitive tongue? How now?

Enter Face
Do we succeed; Is our day come? and holds it?

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

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

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

Mam. Excellent witty, Lungs! My only care is,
Where to get stuff enough now, to project on.
This town will not half serve me.
Face. No, sir? Buy

86 The covering off o'churches.

Mam. That's true.

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

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

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

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

Face. Yes, sir,

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
Of my Seraglio.

Face. Good, “ sir.

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

Face. Yes,” sir.

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

Face. Both blood and spirit, sir.
Mam. I will have all my beds blown up; not

stuff'd;
Down is too hard.
(Is it arriv'd at ruby:) --Where I spy
A wealthy citizen, or a rich lawyer,
Have a sublim'd pure wife, unto that fellow
I'll send a thousand pounds, to be cuckold,

Face. And shall I carry it?

Mam. No, I'll have no bawds,
But fathers and mothers. They will do it best,
Best of all others. And my flatterers

1 20

my

Shall be the pure, and gravest of divines
That I can get for money.

My meet fools,
Eloquent burgesses.
We will be brave, Puffe, now we have the med'cine.
My meat shall all come in, in Indian shells.
Dishes of agate set in gold, and studded
With emeralds, saphirs, hyacinths, and rubies.
My foot-boy shall eat pheasants, calver'd salmons,
Knots, godwits, lampreys: I myself will have
The beards of barbels serv'd instead of sallads;
Oild mushrooms, “and the swelling unctuous paps
“ Of a fat pregnant sow, newly cut off,” 140
Dress'd with an exquisite and poignant sauce ;
For which, I'll say unto my cook, there's gold,
Go forth, and be a knight.
Face. Sir, I'll go

look A little, how it heightens.

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

gums of Paradise, and eastern airSur. 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,

160
Has worn his knees bare, and his slippers bald,
With prayer and fasting for it; and, sir, let him
Do it alone, for me, still. Here he comes.
Not a prophane word, afore him : 'tis poison.

Enter SUBTLE.

Good-morrow, father.

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

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

Sub. Son, I doubt Yo’are covetous, that thus you meet your time l'the just point: prevent your day, it 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 ungoverned haste. I should be sorry To see my labours, now e'en at perfection, Got by long watching, and large patience, Not prosper, where my love and zeal hath placed them. Which in all my ends,

180 Have look'd no way , but unto public good. To pious uses, and dear charity, Now grown a prodigy with men. Wherein If you, my son, should now prevaricate, And, to your own particular lusts, employ So great and catholic a bliss, be sure,

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