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Sur. The decay'd vestals of Drury-Lane would
That keep the fire alive there.
Mam. 'Tis the secret
Sur. Faith I have a humour,
60 Mam. O'the Philosopher's Stone, and in High
Mam. He did.
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,
Face. Like a wench with child, sir,
Mam. Excellent witty, Lungs! My only care is,
86 The covering off o'churches.
Mam. That's true.
Mam. No, good thatch:
Face. I have blown, sir,
Mam. And lastly,
Face. Yes, sir,
Mam. Where's master?
Face. At his prayers, sir : he,
Mam. Lungs, I will set a period
Face. Good, “ sir.
“ Mam. But do you hear? “ I'll geld you, Lungs.
“ Face. Yes,” sir.
Mam. For I do mean
Face. Both blood and spirit, sir.
Face. And shall I carry it?
Mam. No, I'll have no bawds,
Shall be the pure, and gravest of divines
My meet fools,
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,
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,