Strange cure with mineral physick. He deals all Of Galen or his tedious recipes. Enter FACE. How now, Lungs ! Face. Softly, sir, speak softly. I meant To have told your worship all. This must not hear. Mam. No, he will not be gull'd: let him alone. Face. Y'are very right, sir, she is a most rare scholar, And is gone mad with studying Broughton's works. If you but name a word touching the Hebrew, She falls into her fit, and will discourse So learnedly of genealogies, As you would run mad too, to hear her, sir. Mam. How might one do t'have conference with her, Lungs? 400 Face. Oh, divers have run mad upon the conference. I do not know, sir: I am sent in haste, To fetch a viol. Sur. Be not gull'd, sir Mammon. Mam. Wherein? Pray ye, be patient. Sur. Yes, as you are, [Exit. And trust confederate knaves, and bawds, and whores. Mam. You are too foul, believe it. Enter FACE. Come here, Ulen, one word. Face. I dare not, in good faith. Face. He is extreme angry that you saw her, sir. Mam. Drink that. [Gives him money.] What is she when she's out of her fit. Face. Oh, the most affablest creature, sir, so merry! So pleasant! she'll mount you up, like quick-silver, Over the helm; and circulate, like oil, A very vegetal: discourse of state, Mam. Is she no ways accessible? No means, No trick to give a man a taste of her Or so ? [Sub. within.] Ulen. Face. I'll come to you again, sir, [Exit. Mam. Surly, I did not think one of your breeding Would traduce personages of worth. Sur. Sir Epicure, Your friend to use: yet, still loth to be gull'd. I do not like your philosophical bawds. Their Stone is enough to pay for, Without this bait. Mam. 'Heart, you abuse yourself. I know the lady, and her friends, and means, Sur. And yet you never saw her Till now? Mam. Oh, yes! but I forgot: I have, believe it, One of the treacherousest memories, I do think, Of all mankind. Sur. What call you her brother? 449 Mam. My Lord He will 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, pass it, Till we meet next. Mam. Nay, by this hand, 'tis true : He's one I honour, and my noble friend, And I respect his house. Sur. Heart! can it be, That a grave sir, a rich, that has no need, A wise sir, too, at other times, should thus, With his own oaths and arguments, make hard means To gull himself; "An this be your elixir, "Your lapis mineralis, and your lunary, "Give me your honest trick yet at primero ; "I'll have gold before you, "And with less danger of the quick-silver, "Or the hot sulphur." Enter FACE. 461 Face. Here's one from captain Face, sir, [To Surly. Desires 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 That you may see her converse. Sir, shall I say You'll meet the captain's worship? Sur. Sir, I will. Now, I am sure it is a bawdy-house; [Exit Face. "I'll swear it, were the marshal here to thank me;" The naming this commander doth confirm it. Which, if I do discover, dear sir Mammon, You'll give your poor friend leave, though no philosopher, To laugh; for you that are, 'tis thought, shall weep. 480 Enter FACE. Face. Sir, he does pray, you'll not forget. Sur. I will not, sir. Sir Epicure, I shall leave you. Mam. I follow you, straight. Face. But do so, good sir, to avoid suspicion : This gent'man has a parlous head. Mam. But wilt thou, Ulen, Be constant to thy promise? Face. As my life, sir. [Exit. Mam. And wilt thou insinuate what I am, and praise me, And say I am a noble fellow ? Face. Oh, what else, sir? And that you'll make her royal, with the Stone, 2 An empress, and yourself King of Bantam. Mam. Wilt thou do this? Face. Will I, sir! Mam. Lungs, my Lungs! I love thee. Face. Send your stuff, sir, that my master May busy himself about projection. 500 Mam. Th' hast witch'd me, rogue! Take, go. Face. Your jack and all, sir. Mam. Thou art a villain-I will send my jack, And the weights too. "Slave I could bite thine ear." Away; thou dost not care for me. Face. Not I, sir. Mam. Come, I was born to make thee, my good weasel ; Set thee on a bench, and ha' thee twirl a chain With the best lord's vermin of them all. Face. Away, sir. Mam. A count, nay, a count-palatine Face. Good sir, go. Mam. Shall not advance thee better; no, nor faster. [Exit Mam. Enter SUBTLE and DoL. Sub. Has he bit? Has he bit? Face. And swallow'd too, my Subtle. I ha' given him line, and now he plays, i'faith. Face. Thorough both the gills. A wench is a rare bait, "with which a man |