But I hope the best:

I mean to tinct C in sand-heat tomorrow,

And give him imbibition.

MAM.

Of white oil?

SUB.

No, sir, of red. F is come over the helm too,

I thank my Maker, in St Mary's bath,

And shows lac virginis. Blessed be heaven.

I sent you of his faeces there, calcined.

Out of that calx, I' ha' won the salt of Mercury.

MAM.

By pouring on your rectified water?

SUB.

Yes, and reverberating in Athanor.

[Enter Face]

 

How now? What colour says it?

FAC.

The ground black, sir.

MAM.

That's your crow's-head?

SUR.

Your cockscomb's, is it not?

SUB.

No, 'tis not perfect, would it were the crow.

That work wants something.

(SUR.

Oh, I looked for this.

The hay is a-pitching.)

SUB.

Are you sure, you loosed 'em

I' their own menstrue?

FAC.

Yes, sir, and then married 'em,

And put 'em in a bolt's-head, nipped 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.

FAC.

Yes, by the token, sir, the retort brake,

And what was saved, was put into the pelican,

And signed with Hermes' seal.

SUB.

I think 'twas so.

We should have a new amalgama.

(SUR.

Oh, this ferret

Is rank as any polecat.)

SUB.

But I care not.

Let him e'en die; we have enough beside,

In embrion. H has his white shirt on?

FAC.

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.

Aye, are you bolted?)

FAC.

Nay, I know't, sir,

I've seen the ill fortune. What is some three ounces

Of fresh materials?

MAM.

Is't no more?

FAC.

No more, sir,

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

MAM.

Away, here's money. What will serve?

FAC.

Ask him, sir.

MAM.

How much?

SUB.

Give him nine pound: you may gi' him ten.

SUR.

Yes, twenty, and be cozened, 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.

Ha' you set the oil of Luna in kemia?

FAC.

Yes, sir.

SUB.

And the philosopher's vinegar?

FAC.

Aye.

 

[Exit]

 

SUR.

We shall have a salad.

MAM.

When do you make projection?

SUB.

Son, be not hasty, I exalt our medicine,

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.

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?

SUB.

If he please.

SUR.

To be an ass.

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 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 egg, but differs from a chicken more,

Than metals in themselves.

SUR.

That cannot 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.

Aye, for 'twere absurd

To think that nature, in the earth, bred gold

Perfect, i'the instant. Something went before.

There must be remote matter.

SUR.

Aye, what is that?

SUB.

Marry, we say –

MAM.

Aye, 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 viscous

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 quick-silver:

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 o'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.