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Sur. Why, I have heard, he must be homo frugi, A pious, holy, and religious man,

One free from mortal fin, a very virgin.

Mam. That makes it, fir, he is fo. But I buy it.
My venture brings it me. 16 He, honeft wretch,
A notable, fuperftitious, good foul,

Has worn his knees bare, and his flippers bald,
With prayer and fasting for it: and, fir, let him
Do it alone, for me, ftill. Here he comes.
Not a prophane word, afore him: 'tis poyfon.

SCENE III.

Mammon, Subtle, Surly, Face.

Mam. Good morrow, father.

Subtle. Gentle fon, good morrow,

And to your friend there. What is he, is with
Mam. An heretick, that I did bring along,

In hope, fir, to convert him.

Sub. Son, I doubt

you

Yo' are covetous, that thus you meet your time
I' the juft point: prevent your day, at morning.
This argues fomething, worthy of a fear
Of importune and carnal appetite.

Take heed you do not cause the bleffing leave you,
With your ungovern'd hafte. I fhould be forry
To fee my labours, now e'en at perfection,
Got by long watching and large patience,

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A notable, fuperftitious, good foul,

?

Hath worn his KNEES BARE, &C.] The true hermetic philofophers were extremely devout, and given to prayer: Aubery tells us of Dr Napier, rector of Lyndford in Bucks, a very pious man and hermetic philofopher, that his knees were horny with frequent prayer.

Not

Not profper, where my love and zeal hath plac'd 'em.
Which (heaven I call to witness, with your self,
To whom I have pour'd my thoughts) in all my ends,
Have look'd no way, but unto publick good,
To pious uses, and dear charity,
Now grown a prodigy with men.

Wherein

If you, my fon, fhould now prevaricate,
And, to your own particular lufts employ
So great and catholick a blifs, be fure
A curfe will follow, yea, and overtake
Your fubtle and moft fecret ways.
Mam. I know, fir,

You shall not need to fear me.

I but come,

To ha' you confute this gentleman.

Sur. Who is,

Indeed, fir, fomewhat coftive of belief
Toward your ftone: would not be gull'd.
Sub. Well, fon,

All that I can convince him in, is this,
The work is done, bright fol is in his robę.
We have a med'cine of the triple foul,
The glorified fpirit. Thanks be to heaven,
And make us worthy of it. Ulen Spiegel.
Fac. Anon, fir.

Sub. Look well to the register,

And let your heat ftill leffen by degrees,
To the Aludels.

Fac. Yes, fir.

Sub. Did you look

O' the bolts-head yet?
Fac. Which, on D. fir?
Sub. I.

What's the complexion?

Fac. Whitifh.

Sub. Infufe vinegar,

To draw his volatile fubftance and his tincture:

And let the water in glafs E. be feltred,

And

And put into the Gripe's egg. Lute him well;
And leave him clos'd in balneo.

Fac. I will, fir.

Sur. What a brave language here is! next to canting. Sub. I have another work, you never faw, fon, That three days fince past the philofopher's wheel, In the lent heat of Athanor; and's become Sulphur o'Nature.

Mam. But 'tis for me?

Sub. What need you?

You have enough, in that, is perfect.

Mam. O but

Sub. Why, this is covetife!

Mam. No, I affure you,

I shall employ it all in pious ufes,

Founding of colleges, and grammar schools,
Marrying young virgins, building hofpitals,
And now and then, a church.

Sub. How now ?

Fac. Sir, please you,

Shall I not change the feltre?

Sub. Marry, yes;

And bring me the complexion of glass B.
Mam. Ha' you another?

Sub. Yes, fon, were I affur'd

Your piety were firm, we would not want
The means to glorify it. But I hope the best.
I mean to tinct C. in fand-heat to-morrow,

And give him imbibition.

Mam. Of white oil?

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

I thank my maker, in S. Mary's bath,

And fhews lac virginis. Bleffed be heaven.

I fent you of his fæces there calcin'd.

Out of that calx, I ha' won the falt of mercury.
Mam. By pouring on your rectified water?
Sub. Yes, and reverberating in Athanor.

How

How now? what colour fays it?
Fac. The ground black, fir.
Mam. That's your crow's head?
Sur. Your cocks-comb's, is't not?

Sub. No, 'tis not perfect, would it were the crow. That work wants fomething.

Sur. (OI look'd for this.

The hay is pitching.)

Sub. Are you fure, you loos'd 'em I' their own menftrue?

Fac. Yes, fir, and then married 'em,

And put 'em in a bolts-head nipp'd to digeftion,
According as you bade me, when I fet
The liquor of Mars to circulation

In the fame heat.

Sub. The process then was right.

Fac. Yes, by the token, fir, the retort brake, And what was fav'd, was put into the Pellicane, And fign'd with Hermes' feal.

Sub. I think 'twas fo.

We should have a new Amalgama 47.

Sur. (O, this ferret

Is rank as any pole-cat.)

Sub. But I care not.

Let him e'en die; we have enough befide,
In embrion. H. ha's his white fhirt on ?
Fac. Yes, fir,

He's ripe for inceration: he ftands warm,
In his afh-fire. I would not, you should let
Any dye now, if I might counsel, fir,
For luck's fake to the reft. It is not good.
Mam. He fays right.

7 We should have a new AMALGAMA.] A mixture of metals with mercury. Dr. GREY, I have not troubled the reader with the explanation of all the terms of art, which he may learn by confulting his dictionary: fome of them mean the fame thing, and the exact meaning of fome is dubious.

Sub.

Sur. I, are you bolted?

Fac. Nay, I know't, fir,

I have seen th' ill fortune. What is fome three ounces

Of fresh materials ?

Mam. Is't no more?

Fac. No more, fir,

Of gold, t'amalgame, with fome fix of mercury.
Mam. Away, here's money. What will ferve?
Fac. Afk him, fir.

Mam. How much?

Sub. Give him nine pound: you may gi' him ten.
Sur. Yes, twenty, and be cozen'd, do.

Mam. There 'tis.

Sub. This needs not. But that you will have it fo, To fee conclufions of all. For two

Of our inferior works are at fixation,

A third is in afcenfion. Go your ways.
Ha' you fet the oil of luna in kemia?
Fac. Yes, fir.

Sub. And the philosophers vinegar.

Fac. I.

Sur. We fhall have a fallad.

Mam. When do you make projection?

Sub. Son, be not hafty, I exalt our med'cine,

By hanging him in balneo vaporofo,

;

And giving him folution; then congeal him
And then diffolve 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 fecond loofe, he'll turn a thousand;
His third folution, 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

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