In searching out these veins, then following them, Then trying them out. 'Fore God, my intelligence Costs me more money than my share oft comes to In these rare works.

Sub. You are pleasant, sir.-How now ?

Enter DoL.

Face. What says my dainty Dolkin ?

Dol. Yonder fish-wife

Will not away. And there's your giantess,
The bawd of Lambeth.

Sub. Heart, I cannot speak with them.

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Dol. Not afore night, I have told them, in a voice, Through 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.

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, talk'd, as he were possess'd,
"And now he's dealing pieces on't away.
"Methinks I see him entering ordinaries,

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"Dispensing for the pox, and plaguy houses, "Reaching his dose, walking Moorfields for lepers, "Searching the spittal, to make old bawds young; "And the highways, for beggars to make rich : "I see no end of my labours. He will make "Nature asham'd of her long sleep; when art, "Who's but a step dame, shall do more than she,” He's, in belief of chymistry, so bold,

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

ACT II. SCENE 1.

MAMMON and SURLY.

Mammon.

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,

And have your punques, and punquetees, my Surly,
And unto thee, I speak it first, Be rich.-Face,
-Within, ho!

Where is my Subtle, there ?

Face. [Within.] Sir, he'll come to you, by and by. Mam. That's his fire-drake.

His lungs, his Zephirus, he that puffs his coals,

Till he firk Nature up in her own centre.

You are doubtful, 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, 20
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,

You will believe me.

Sur. Yes, when I see't, I will.

Mam. 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,

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To the fifth age; make him get sons and daughters,

Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids.

Sur. The decay'd vestals of Drury-Lane would

thank you,

That keep the fire alive there.

Mam. 'Tis the secret

Of Nature, naturiz'd '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.
You're still incredulous.

Sur. Faith I have a humour,

I would not willingly be gull'd. Your Stone
Cannot transmute me.

Mam. Surly,

Will you believe antiquity? Records?

I'll shew you a book, where Moses, and his sister,
And Solomon, have written of the art;

Ay, and a treatise penn'd by Adam.

Sur. How!

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Mam. O' the Philosopher's Stone, and in High

Dutch.

Sur. Did Adam, write, sir, in High Dutch?
Mam. He did.

Which proves it was the primitive tongue? How now?

Enter FACE.

Do we succeed; Is our day come? and holds it? 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 you To see projection.

Mam. My Surly,

Again, I say to thee, aloud, Be rich;

This day, thou shalt have ingots; and, to-morrow, Give lords th' affront. Is it, my Zephirus, right? Blushes the bolt's-head?

Face. Like a wench with child, sir,

That were, but now, discover'd to her master.
Mam. Excellent witty, Lungs! My only care is,
Where to get stuff enough now, to project on.
This town will not half serve me.

Face. No, sir? Buy

The covering off o' churches.

Mam. That's true.

Face. Yes,

Let them stand bare, as do their auditory; cap them new with shingles.

Or

Mam. No, good thatch:

Thatch will lie light upon the rafters, Lungs.
Lungs, I will manumit thee from the furnace;
I will restore thee thy complexion, Puffe,
Lost in the embers; and repair this brain,
Hurt wi' the fume o' the metals.

Face. I have blown, sir,

Hard for your worship; these blear'd eyes
Have wak'd, to read your several colours, sir;
Of the pale citron, the green liọn, the crow,
The peacock's tail, the plumed swan.

Mam. And lastly,

Thou hast descry'd the flower.

Face. Yes, sir,