Sub. I think 'twas so.

We should have a new amalgama.

Sur. Oh, this ferret

Is rank as any pole-cat.

Sub. But I care not:

Let him e'en die; we have enough beside,
In embrion. H has his white shirt on.

Face. Yes, sir,

He's ripe for inceration, he stands warm

In his ash fire. I would not you should let
Any die now, if I might counsel, sir,

For luck's sake to the rest: it is not good.
Mam. He says right.

Sur. Ay, are you bolted?

Face. Nay, I know't, sir,

I have seen the ill fortune. What is some three ounces

Of fresh materials?

Mam. Is't no more?

Face. No more, sir,

Of gold, t' amalgame with some six of mercury.

Mam. Away, here's money.

Face. Ask him, sir.

Mam. How much?

Sub. Give him nine pounds

[Aside.

[Aside.

What will serve?

you may give him ten.

[Gives FACE the money.

Sur. Yes, twenty, and be cozen'd - do.
Mam. There 'tis.

Sub. This needs not; but that you will have it so,

To see conclusions of all; for two

Of our inferior works are at fixation,

A third is in ascension. Go your ways.

Have you set the oil of luna in kemia?
Face. Yes, sir.

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

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,

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.

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;

[Exit.

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.

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

Mam. This gentleman 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 observed, 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 hatched so?

Sur. If I should?

Sub. Why, I think that the greater miracle.
No eggs but differ from a chicken more
Than metals in themselves.

Sur. That can not be.

The egg's ordained 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 'twere absurd

To think that nature in the earth bred gold
Perfect in 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,

A humid exhalation, which we call
Materia liquida, or the unctuous water;
On the other part, a certain crass and vicious
Portion of earth; both which, concorporate,
Do make the elementary matter of gold;
Which is not yet propria 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,
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,
As to grow gold, and leap o'er all the means.
Nature doth first beget the imperfect, then
Proceeds she to the perfect. Of that airy
And oily water, mercury is engendered;
Sulphur of 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 carcases and dung of creatures;
Yea, scorpions of an herb, being rightly placed?
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.

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 of your writers 'grees with other?
Of your elixir, your lac virginis,

Your stone, your med'cine, and your chrysosperme,
Your sal, your sulphur, and your mercury,

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,
And then your red man and your white woman,
With all your broths, your menstrues, and materials,
Of lye 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,
Would burst a man to name?

Sub. And all these named,

Intending but one thing; which art our writers
Used 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 Egyptians 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,
Wrapp'd in perplexed allegories?

Mam. I urged that,

And cleared to him that Sysiphus was damned

To roll the ceaseless stone, only because

He would have made Ours common. [DOL appears at the door.

Who is this?

Where's this varlet?

Sub. 'Sprecious! - What do you mean? Go in, good lady, Let me entreat you. [DOL. retires.]

Face. Sir.

Re-enter FACE.

Sub. You very knave! do you use me thus?

Face. Wherein, sir?

Sub. Go in and see, you traitor. Go!

Mam. Who is, sir?

Sub. Nothing, sir; nothing.

[Exit FACE.

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,
But ours the most ignorant.

What now?

Re-enter FACE.

Face. 'Twas not my fault, sir: she would speak with you,
Sub. Would she, sir! Follow me.

Mam. [Stopping him] Stay, Lungs.
Face. I dare not, sir.

Mam. Stay, man; what is she?

Face. A lord's sister, sir.

Mam. How! pray thee, stay.

Face. She's mad, sir, and sent hither —

He'll be mad too

Mam. I warrant thee.

Why sent hither?

[Exit.

Face. Sir, to be cured.

Sub. [Within] Why, rascal!

Face. Lo you!· Here, sir!

[Exit.

Mam. 'Fore God, a Bradamante, a brave piece.

Sur. Heart, this is an evil house! I will be burnt else.

Mam. Oh, 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

Of Galen or his tedious recipes.

How now, Lungs !

Re-enter FACE.

Face. Softly, sir; speak softly. I meant

To have told your worship all. This must not hear.

Mam. No, he will not be "gull'd"; let him alone.

Face. You are very right, sir; she is a most rare scholar,

And is gone mad with studying Broughton's works.

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? Face. Oh, divers have run mad upon the conference:

I do not know, sir. I am sent in haste

To fetch a vial,