Sulphur o' the fat and earthly part; the one
(Which is the laft) fupplying the place of Male,
'The other of Female, in all Metals.

Some do believe that Hermaphrodeity,
That both do act and fuffer.

But these two

Make the reft ductile, malleable, extenfive.
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.
Befide, who doth not fee, in daily practice,
Art can beget Bees, Hornets, Beetles, Wafps,
Out of the Carcaffes and Dung of Creatures;
Yea, Scorpions of an Herb, being rightly plac'd?
And these are living Creatures, far more perfect
And excellent than Metals. Mam. Well faid, Father!
Nay, if he take you in Hand, Sir, with an Argument,
He'll bray you in a Mortar. Sur. Pray you, Sir, ftay.
Rather then 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 elfe are all your Terms,

Whereon no one o'your Writers 'grees with other?
Of your Elixir, your Lac virginis,

Your Stone, your Med'cine, and your Chryfofperme,
Your Sal, your Sulphur, and your Mercury,
Your Oil of Height, your Tree of Life, your Blood,
Your Marchefite, your Tutie, your Magnefia,

Your Toade, your Crow, your Dragon, and your Panthar,
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 Menfrues, and Materials
Of Pifs and Egg-fbels, Womens Terms, Man's Blood,
Hair 'th Head, burnt Clouts, Chalk, Merds, and Clay,
Powder of Bones, Scalings of Iron, Class,
And Worlds of other frange Ingredients,

Would

Would burft a Man to name? Sub. And all thefe, nam'd,
Intending but one thing; which Art our Writers
Us'd to obfcure their Art. Mam. Sir, fo I told him,
Because the fimple Ideot fhould not learn it,
And make it vulgar. Sub. Was not all the Knowledge:
Of the Egyptians writ in myftick Symbols ?
Speak not the Scriptures oft in Parables?
Are not the choiceit Fables of the Poets,

That were the Fountains and first Springs of Wisdom,
Wrapt in perplext Allegories? Mam. I urg'd that,
And clear'd to him, that Syfiphus was damn'd
To roll the ceaflefs Stone, only because

He would have ours common. Who is this? [Doll is feen.
God's precious. What do you mean? Go in, good Lady,
Let me intreat you. Where's this Varlet? Fac, Sir?
Sub. You very Knave! do you use me thus ?

Fac. Wherein, Sir?

Sub. Go in, and fee, you Traitor. Go.

Mam. Who is it, Sir?

Sub. Nothing, Sir: Nothing.

Mam. What's the matter, good Sir?

I have not feen you thus ditemper'd? Who is't?

Sub. All Arts have ftill had, Sir, their Adversaries; But ours the most ignorant. What now? [Face returns. Fac. 'Twas not my Fault, Sir; fhe would fpeak with

you.

Sub. Would fhe, Sir? Follow me:

Mam. Stay, Lungs. Fac. I dare not, Sir..

Mam. How! Pray thee ftay.

Fac. She's mad, Sir, and fent hither

Mam. Stay Man, what is fhe! Fac. A Lord's Sifter,

Sir.

(He'll be mad too. Mam. I warrant thee.)

Why fent hither?

Fac. Sir, to be cur'd. Sur. Why Rascal!
Fac. Loe you. Here, Sir.

[He goes out.

Mam. 'Fore God, a Bradamante, a brave Piece.
Sur. Heart, this is a Bawdy-houfe! I'll be burnt else.

Mam.

Mam. O, by this Light, no. Do not wrong him. He's
Too fcrupulous that way. It is his Vice.
No, he's a rare Phyfician, do him right,
An excellent Paracelfian, and has done

Strange Cures with Mineral Phyfick. He deals all
With Spirits, he. He will not hear a Word
Of Galen, or his tedious Recipe's.

How now, Lungs !

[Face again. Fac. Softly, Sir, fpeak foftly. I meant To ha' told your Worship all. This must not hear. Mam. No, he will not be gull'd: let him alone. Fac. Y'are very right, Sir, fhe is a moft rare Scholar, And is gone mad with ftudying Braughton's Works. If you but name a Word touching the Hebrew, She falls into her Fit, and will discourse

So learnedly of Genoalogies,

As you would run mad too, to hear her, Sir.

Mam. How might one do t' have Conference with her, Lungs?

Fac. O, divers have run mad upon the conference, I do not know, Sir: I am fent in hafte,

To fetch a Viol Sur. Be not gull'd, Sir Mammon.
Mam. Wherein? Pray ye, be patient.

Sur. Yes, as you are,

And truft confederate Knaves, and Bawds, and Whores.

Mam. You are too foul, believe it.

Come here, Ulen,

One word. Fac. I dare not, in good faith.

Mam. Stay, Knave.

Fac. H' is extream angry that you faw her, Sir.
Mam. Drink that.

her Fit?

What is the when fhe's out of

Fac. O, the most affableft creature, Sir! fo merry! So pleasant! fhe'll mount you up, like Quick-filver, Over the Helm; and circulate, like Oil,

A very Vegetal, Difcourfe of State,

Of Mathematicks, Bardry, any thing-
Mam. Is fhe no ways acceffible? no means,
No trick to give a Mana tafte of her wit-

Or

Or fo?ULEN. Fac. I'll come to you again, Sir.
Mam. Surly, I did not think, one o' your breeding
Would traduce Perfonages of worth. Sur. Sir Epicure,
Your friend to use: yet, ftill, loth to be gull'd.
I do not like your Philofophical Bawds.
Their Stone is Letchery enough to pay for,
Without this Bait. Mam. 'Heart, you abuse your self.-
I know the Lady, and her Friends, and Means,
The Original of this Difafter. Her Brother

Has told me all. Sur. And yet you ne'er faw her
Till now? Mam. O, yes, but I forgot.

lieve it)

I have (be

One o' the treacheroufeft memories, I do think,
Of all Mankind. Sur. What call you her Brother ?
Mam. My Lord

He wi' not have his Name known, now I think on't.
Sur. A very treacherous Memory! Mam. O my faith.
Sur. Tut. If you ha' it not about you, pafs it,
Till we meet next. Mam. Nay, by this hand, 'tis true.
He's one I honour, and my Noble Friend,
And I refpect his Houfe. Sur. Heart, can it be,
That a grave Sir, a rich, that has no need,

A wife Sir, too, at other times, fhould thus

With his own Oaths, and Arguments, make hard means To gull himself? And this be your Elixir,

Your lapis mineralis, and your lunary,

Give me your honest trick, yet, at Primero,
Or Gleek; and take your lutum fapientis,

Your menftruum fimplex: I'll have Gold before you,
And with lefs Danger of the Quickfilver,

Or the hot Sulphur.

Fac. Here's one from Captain Face, Sir? [To Surley. Defires you to meet him i' the Temple Church,

Some half hour hence, and upon earnest Business.
Sir, if you please to quit us, now; and come

[He whispers Mammon.

Again within two Hours, you shall have
My Mafter bufie examining o' the Works &

And

And I will steal you unto the Party,

That you may fee her converfe. Sir, fhall I fay,
You'll meet the Captain's Worship? Sur. I will.
But, by Attorney, and to a fecond Purpose:
Now, I am fure, it is a Bawdy-house ;

I'll fwear it, were the Marshal here to thank me:
The naming this Commander doth confirm it.
Don Face! why, h' is the moft authentick Dealer
I' thefe Commodities! The Superintendent

To all the quainter Traffickers in Town.

He is the Vifitor, and does appoint,

Who lies with whom, and at what Hour; what Price ;: Which Gown ; and in what Smock; what Fall; what Tyre: Him will I prove, by a third Perfon to find

The Subtilties of this dark Labyrinth:

Which, if I do discover, dear Sir Mammon,

You'll give your poor Friend leave, tho' no Philofopher, To laugh for you that are, 'tis thought, fhall weep.. Fac. Sir, he does pray, you'll not forget.

Sur. I will not, Sir.

Sir Epicure, I fhall leave you?

Mam. I follow you, ftraight.

Fac. But do fo, good Sir, to avoid Sufpicion, This Gent'man has a par'lous Head.

Mam. But wilt thou, ULEN,

Be conftant to thy Promife? Fac. As my Life, Sir.
Mam. And wilt thou infinuate what I am? and)
praise me?

And fay, I am a noble Fellow? Fac. O what else, Sir..
And that you'll make her royal, with the Stone,
An Emprefs; and your felf King of Bantam.

Mam. Wilt thou do this?:

Fac. Will I, Sir? Mam. Lungs, my Lungs!

I love thee. Fac. Send your Stuff, Sir, that my Master
May bufie himself about projection.

Mam. Th' haft witch'd me, Rogue? Take, go.
Fac. Your Jack, and all, Sir.

Mam. Thou art a Villain-I will send my Jack,

And