The Alchemist, Ben Jonson [great novels .TXT] 📗
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which fore-shew'd,
He should be a merchant, and should trade with balance.
FACE. Why, this is strange! Is it not, honest Nab?
SUB. There is a ship now, coming from Ormus,
That shall yield him such a commodity
Of drugs
[POINTING TO THE PLAN.]
—This is the west, and this the south?
DRUG. Yes, sir.
SUB. And those are your two sides?
DRUG. Ay, sir.
SUB. Make me your door, then, south; your broad side, west:
And on the east side of your shop, aloft,
Write Mathlai, Tarmiel, and Baraborat;
Upon the north part, Rael, Velel, Thiel.
They are the names of those mercurial spirits,
That do fright flies from boxes.
DRUG. Yes, sir.
SUB. And
Beneath your threshold, bury me a load-stone
To draw in gallants that wear spurs: the rest,
They'll seem to follow.
FACE. That's a secret, Nab!
SUB. And, on your stall, a puppet, with a vice
And a court-fucus to call city-dames:
You shall deal much with minerals.
DRUG. Sir, I have.
At home, already—
SUB. Ay, I know you have arsenic,
Vitriol, sal-tartar, argaile, alkali,
Cinoper: I know all.—This fellow, captain,
Will come, in time, to be a great distiller,
And give a say—I will not say directly,
But very fair—at the philosopher's stone.
FACE. Why, how now, Abel! is this true?
DRUG [ASIDE TO FACE]. Good captain,
What must I give?
FACE. Nay, I'll not counsel thee.
Thou hear'st what wealth (he says, spend what thou canst,)
Thou'rt like to come to.
DRUG. I would gi' him a crown.
FACE. A crown! and toward such a fortune? heart,
Thou shalt rather gi' him thy shop. No gold about thee?
DRUG. Yes, I have a portague, I have kept this half-year.
FACE. Out on thee, Nab! 'Slight, there was such an offer—
Shalt keep't no longer, I'll give't him for thee. Doctor,
Nab prays your worship to drink this, and swears
He will appear more grateful, as your skill
Does raise him in the world.
DRUG. I would entreat
Another favour of his worship.
FACE. What is't, Nab?
DRUG. But to look over, sir, my almanack,
And cross out my ill-days, that I may neither
Bargain, nor trust upon them.
FACE. That he shall, Nab:
Leave it, it shall be done, 'gainst afternoon.
SUB. And a direction for his shelves.
FACE. Now, Nab,
Art thou well pleased, Nab?
DRUG. 'Thank, sir, both your worships.
FACE. Away.
[EXIT DRUGGER.]
Why, now, you smoaky persecutor of nature!
Now do you see, that something's to be done,
Beside your beech-coal, and your corsive waters,
Your crosslets, crucibles, and cucurbites?
You must have stuff brought home to you, to work on:
And yet you think, I am at no expense
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.
[RE-ENTER DOL.]
—How now!
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.
DOL. Not afore night, I have told them in a voice,
Thorough 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.
[EXIT FACE.]
Dol, you must presently make ready, too.
DOL. Why, what's the matter?
SUB. O, 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, talked as he were possess'd.
And now he's dealing pieces on't away.—
Methinks I see him entering ordinaries,
Dispensing for the pox, and plaguy houses,
Reaching his dose, walking Moorfields for lepers,
And offering citizens' wives pomander-bracelets,
As his preservative, made of the elixir;
Searching the spittal, to make old bawds young;
And the highways, for beggars, to make rich.
I see no end of his labours. He will make
Nature asham'd of her long sleep: when art,
Who's but a step-dame, shall do more than she,
In her best love to mankind, ever could:
If his dream lasts, he'll turn the age to gold.
[EXEUNT.]
ACT 2. SCENE 2.1.
He should be a merchant, and should trade with balance.
FACE. Why, this is strange! Is it not, honest Nab?
SUB. There is a ship now, coming from Ormus,
That shall yield him such a commodity
Of drugs
[POINTING TO THE PLAN.]
—This is the west, and this the south?
DRUG. Yes, sir.
SUB. And those are your two sides?
DRUG. Ay, sir.
SUB. Make me your door, then, south; your broad side, west:
And on the east side of your shop, aloft,
Write Mathlai, Tarmiel, and Baraborat;
Upon the north part, Rael, Velel, Thiel.
They are the names of those mercurial spirits,
That do fright flies from boxes.
DRUG. Yes, sir.
SUB. And
Beneath your threshold, bury me a load-stone
To draw in gallants that wear spurs: the rest,
They'll seem to follow.
FACE. That's a secret, Nab!
SUB. And, on your stall, a puppet, with a vice
And a court-fucus to call city-dames:
You shall deal much with minerals.
DRUG. Sir, I have.
At home, already—
SUB. Ay, I know you have arsenic,
Vitriol, sal-tartar, argaile, alkali,
Cinoper: I know all.—This fellow, captain,
Will come, in time, to be a great distiller,
And give a say—I will not say directly,
But very fair—at the philosopher's stone.
FACE. Why, how now, Abel! is this true?
DRUG [ASIDE TO FACE]. Good captain,
What must I give?
FACE. Nay, I'll not counsel thee.
Thou hear'st what wealth (he says, spend what thou canst,)
Thou'rt like to come to.
DRUG. I would gi' him a crown.
FACE. A crown! and toward such a fortune? heart,
Thou shalt rather gi' him thy shop. No gold about thee?
DRUG. Yes, I have a portague, I have kept this half-year.
FACE. Out on thee, Nab! 'Slight, there was such an offer—
Shalt keep't no longer, I'll give't him for thee. Doctor,
Nab prays your worship to drink this, and swears
He will appear more grateful, as your skill
Does raise him in the world.
DRUG. I would entreat
Another favour of his worship.
FACE. What is't, Nab?
DRUG. But to look over, sir, my almanack,
And cross out my ill-days, that I may neither
Bargain, nor trust upon them.
FACE. That he shall, Nab:
Leave it, it shall be done, 'gainst afternoon.
SUB. And a direction for his shelves.
FACE. Now, Nab,
Art thou well pleased, Nab?
DRUG. 'Thank, sir, both your worships.
FACE. Away.
[EXIT DRUGGER.]
Why, now, you smoaky persecutor of nature!
Now do you see, that something's to be done,
Beside your beech-coal, and your corsive waters,
Your crosslets, crucibles, and cucurbites?
You must have stuff brought home to you, to work on:
And yet you think, I am at no expense
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.
[RE-ENTER DOL.]
—How now!
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.
DOL. Not afore night, I have told them in a voice,
Thorough 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.
[EXIT FACE.]
Dol, you must presently make ready, too.
DOL. Why, what's the matter?
SUB. O, 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, talked as he were possess'd.
And now he's dealing pieces on't away.—
Methinks I see him entering ordinaries,
Dispensing for the pox, and plaguy houses,
Reaching his dose, walking Moorfields for lepers,
And offering citizens' wives pomander-bracelets,
As his preservative, made of the elixir;
Searching the spittal, to make old bawds young;
And the highways, for beggars, to make rich.
I see no end of his labours. He will make
Nature asham'd of her long sleep: when art,
Who's but a step-dame, shall do more than she,
In her best love to mankind, ever could:
If his dream lasts, he'll turn the age to gold.
[EXEUNT.]
ACT 2. SCENE 2.1.
AN OUTER ROOM IN LOVEWIT'S HOUSE.
ENTER SIR EPICURE MAMMON AND SURLY.
MAM. 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.
You shall no more deal with the hollow dye,
Or the frail card. No more be at charge of keeping
The livery-punk for the young heir, that must
Seal, at all hours, in his shirt: no more,
If he deny, have him beaten to't, as he is
That brings him the commodity. No more
Shall thirst of satin, or the covetous hunger
Of velvet entrails for a rude-spun cloke,
To be display'd at madam Augusta's, make
The sons of Sword and Hazard fall before
The golden calf, and on their knees, whole nights
Commit idolatry with wine and trumpets:
Or go a feasting after drum and ensign.
No more of this. You shall start up young viceroys,
And have your punks, and punketees, my Surly.
And unto thee I speak it first, BE RICH.
Where is my Subtle, there? Within, ho!
FACE [WITHIN]. Sir, he'll come to you by and by.
MAM. That is his fire-drake,
His Lungs, his Zephyrus, he that puffs his coals,
Till he firk nature up, in her own centre.
You are not faithful, 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 by their tin and lead up; and to Lothbury
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 th' effects of the Great Medicine,
Of which one part projected on a hundred
Of Mercury, or Venus, or the moon,
Shall turn it to as many of the sun;
Nay, to a thousand, so ad infinitum:
You will believe me.
SUR. Yes, when I see't, I will.
But if my eyes do cozen me so, and I
Giving them no occasion, sure I'll have
A whore, shall piss them out next day.
MAM. Ha! 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,
To the fifth age; make him get sons and daughters,
Young giants; as our philosophers have done,
The ancient patriarchs, afore the flood,
But taking, once a week, on a knife's point,
The quantity of a grain of mustard of it;
Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids.
SUR. The decay'd vestals of Pict-hatch would thank you,
That keep the fire alive, there.
MAM. 'Tis the secret
Of nature naturis'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.
I'll undertake, withal, to fright the plague
Out of the kingdom in three months.
SUR. And I'll
Be bound, the players shall sing your praises, then,
Without their poets.
MAM. Sir, I'll do't. Mean time,
I'll give away so much unto my man,
Shall serve the whole city, with preservative
Weekly; each house his dose, and at the rate—
SUR. As he that built the Water-work, does with water?
MAM. You are incredulous.
SUR. Faith I have a humour,
I would not willingly be gull'd. Your stone
Cannot transmute me.
MAM. Pertinax, [my] 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!
MAM. Of 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.
SUR. What paper?
MAM. On cedar board.
SUR. O that, indeed, they say,
Will last 'gainst worms.
MAM. 'Tis like your Irish wood,
'Gainst cob-webs. I have a piece of Jason's fleece, too,
Which was no other than a book of alchemy,
Writ in large sheep-skin, a good fat ram-vellum.
Such was Pythagoras' thigh, Pandora's tub,
And, all that fable of Medea's charms,
The manner of our work; the bulls, our furnace,
Still breathing fire; our argent-vive, the dragon:
The dragon's teeth, mercury sublimate,
That keeps the whiteness, hardness, and the biting;
And they are gathered into Jason's helm,
The alembic, and then sow'd in Mars his field,
And thence sublimed so often, till they're fixed.
Both this, the Hesperian garden, Cadmus' story,
Jove's shower, the boon of Midas, Argus' eyes,
Boccace his Demogorgon, thousands more,
All abstract riddles of our stone.
[ENTER FACE, AS A SERVANT.]
—How now!
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. Pertinax, 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 Zephyrus, 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
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;
Or cap them, new, with shingles.
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 with the fume o' the metals.
FACE. I have blown, sir,
Hard for your worship; thrown by many a coal,
When 'twas not beech; weigh'd those I put in, just,
To keep your heat still even; these blear'd eyes
Have wak'd to read your several colours, sir,
Of the pale citron, the green lion, the crow,
The peacock's tail, the plumed swan.
MAM. And, lastly,
Thou hast descry'd the flower, the sanguis agni?
FACE. Yes, sir.
MAM. Where's master?
FACE. At his prayers, sir, he;
Good man, he's doing his devotions
For the success.
MAM. Lungs, I will set a period
To all thy labours; thou shalt be the master
Of my seraglio.
FACE. Good, sir.
MAM. But do you hear?
I'll geld you, Lungs.
FACE. Yes, sir.
MAM. For I do mean
To have a list of wives and concubines,
Equal with Solomon, who had the stone
Alike with me; and I will make me a back
With the elixir, that shall be as tough
As Hercules, to encounter fifty a night.—
Thou'rt sure thou saw'st it blood?
FACE. Both
ENTER SIR EPICURE MAMMON AND SURLY.
MAM. 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.
You shall no more deal with the hollow dye,
Or the frail card. No more be at charge of keeping
The livery-punk for the young heir, that must
Seal, at all hours, in his shirt: no more,
If he deny, have him beaten to't, as he is
That brings him the commodity. No more
Shall thirst of satin, or the covetous hunger
Of velvet entrails for a rude-spun cloke,
To be display'd at madam Augusta's, make
The sons of Sword and Hazard fall before
The golden calf, and on their knees, whole nights
Commit idolatry with wine and trumpets:
Or go a feasting after drum and ensign.
No more of this. You shall start up young viceroys,
And have your punks, and punketees, my Surly.
And unto thee I speak it first, BE RICH.
Where is my Subtle, there? Within, ho!
FACE [WITHIN]. Sir, he'll come to you by and by.
MAM. That is his fire-drake,
His Lungs, his Zephyrus, he that puffs his coals,
Till he firk nature up, in her own centre.
You are not faithful, 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 by their tin and lead up; and to Lothbury
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 th' effects of the Great Medicine,
Of which one part projected on a hundred
Of Mercury, or Venus, or the moon,
Shall turn it to as many of the sun;
Nay, to a thousand, so ad infinitum:
You will believe me.
SUR. Yes, when I see't, I will.
But if my eyes do cozen me so, and I
Giving them no occasion, sure I'll have
A whore, shall piss them out next day.
MAM. Ha! 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,
To the fifth age; make him get sons and daughters,
Young giants; as our philosophers have done,
The ancient patriarchs, afore the flood,
But taking, once a week, on a knife's point,
The quantity of a grain of mustard of it;
Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids.
SUR. The decay'd vestals of Pict-hatch would thank you,
That keep the fire alive, there.
MAM. 'Tis the secret
Of nature naturis'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.
I'll undertake, withal, to fright the plague
Out of the kingdom in three months.
SUR. And I'll
Be bound, the players shall sing your praises, then,
Without their poets.
MAM. Sir, I'll do't. Mean time,
I'll give away so much unto my man,
Shall serve the whole city, with preservative
Weekly; each house his dose, and at the rate—
SUR. As he that built the Water-work, does with water?
MAM. You are incredulous.
SUR. Faith I have a humour,
I would not willingly be gull'd. Your stone
Cannot transmute me.
MAM. Pertinax, [my] 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!
MAM. Of 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.
SUR. What paper?
MAM. On cedar board.
SUR. O that, indeed, they say,
Will last 'gainst worms.
MAM. 'Tis like your Irish wood,
'Gainst cob-webs. I have a piece of Jason's fleece, too,
Which was no other than a book of alchemy,
Writ in large sheep-skin, a good fat ram-vellum.
Such was Pythagoras' thigh, Pandora's tub,
And, all that fable of Medea's charms,
The manner of our work; the bulls, our furnace,
Still breathing fire; our argent-vive, the dragon:
The dragon's teeth, mercury sublimate,
That keeps the whiteness, hardness, and the biting;
And they are gathered into Jason's helm,
The alembic, and then sow'd in Mars his field,
And thence sublimed so often, till they're fixed.
Both this, the Hesperian garden, Cadmus' story,
Jove's shower, the boon of Midas, Argus' eyes,
Boccace his Demogorgon, thousands more,
All abstract riddles of our stone.
[ENTER FACE, AS A SERVANT.]
—How now!
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. Pertinax, 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 Zephyrus, 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
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;
Or cap them, new, with shingles.
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 with the fume o' the metals.
FACE. I have blown, sir,
Hard for your worship; thrown by many a coal,
When 'twas not beech; weigh'd those I put in, just,
To keep your heat still even; these blear'd eyes
Have wak'd to read your several colours, sir,
Of the pale citron, the green lion, the crow,
The peacock's tail, the plumed swan.
MAM. And, lastly,
Thou hast descry'd the flower, the sanguis agni?
FACE. Yes, sir.
MAM. Where's master?
FACE. At his prayers, sir, he;
Good man, he's doing his devotions
For the success.
MAM. Lungs, I will set a period
To all thy labours; thou shalt be the master
Of my seraglio.
FACE. Good, sir.
MAM. But do you hear?
I'll geld you, Lungs.
FACE. Yes, sir.
MAM. For I do mean
To have a list of wives and concubines,
Equal with Solomon, who had the stone
Alike with me; and I will make me a back
With the elixir, that shall be as tough
As Hercules, to encounter fifty a night.—
Thou'rt sure thou saw'st it blood?
FACE. Both
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