DRU.

Sir, I have,

At home, already –

SUB.

Aye, I know, you have arsenic,

Vitriol, sal-tartar, argaile, alkali,

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 hearst, what wealth (he says, spend what thou canst)

Th'art like to come to.

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

Does raise him in the world.

DRU.

I would entreat

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 pleased, Nab?

DRU.

Thank sir, both your worships.

FAC.

Away.

 

[Exit Drugger]

 

Why, now, you smoky persecuter of nature!

Now, do you see, that something's to be done,

Beside your beech-coal, and your corsive waters,

Your cross-lets, crucibles, and cucurbits?

You must have stuff, brought home to you, to work on?

And yet you think I am at no expense,

In searching out these veins, then following 'em,

Then trying 'em out. 'Fore God, my intelligence

Costs me more money than my share oft comes to,

In these rare works.

SUB.

You're pleasant, sir. How now?

 

Scene 4

Enter Dol

 

FAC.

What says my dainty Dolkin?

DOL.

Yonder fishwife

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?

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.

 

[Exit Face]

 

Dol, you must presently make ready too –

DOL.

Why, what's the matter?

SUB.

Oh, I did look for him

With the sun's 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 talked, as he were possessed.

And now he's dealing pieces on't, away.

Methinks I see him, entering ordinaries,

Dispensing for the pox; and plaguey-houses,

Reaching his dose; walking Moorfields for lepers;

And offering citizens' wives pomander-bracelets,

As his preservative, made of the elixir;

Searching the spittle, to make old bawds young;

And the highways for beggars to make rich:

I see no end of his labours. He will make

Nature ashamed of her long sleep: when art,

Who's but a stepdame, shall do more than she,

In her best love to mankind, ever could.

If his dream last, he'll turn the age, to gold.

 

[Exeunt]

 

 

Act II

Scene 1

Enter Sir Epicure Mammon, Surly

 

MAM.

Come 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 sailing to't

Three years, but we have reached 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 die,

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

Shall thirst of satin, or the covetous hunger

Of velvet entrails, for a rude-spun cloak,

To be displayed at Madam Augusta's, make

The sons of sword and hazard 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 Viceroys,

And have your punks and punkettees, my Surly.

And unto thee I speak it first, 'be rich'.

Where is my Subtle, there? Within hough?

FAC (Within)

Sir.

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 centre.

You are not faithful, sir. This night I'll change

All that is metal in my house to gold.

And early in the morning 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 the 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 '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 its virtue,

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 ancient patriarchs afore the flood)

But taking, once a week, on a knife's point,

The quantity of a grain of mustard, of it:

Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids.

SUR.

The decayed vestals of Pict-hatch would thank you,

That keep the fire alive there.

MAM.

'Tis the secret

Of nature, naturized '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.

I'll undertake, withal, to fright the plague

Out o' the kingdom, in three months.