The Alchemist, Ben Jonson [great novels .TXT] 📗

blood and spirit, sir.

  MAM. I will have all my beds blown up, not stuft;
  Down is too hard: and then, mine oval room
  Fill'd with such pictures as Tiberius took
  From Elephantis, and dull Aretine
  But coldly imitated. Then, my glasses
  Cut in more subtle angles, to disperse
  And multiply the figures, as I walk
  Naked between my succubae. My mists
  I'll have of perfume, vapour'd 'bout the room,
  To lose ourselves in; and my baths, like pits
  To fall into; from whence we will come forth,
  And roll us dry in gossamer and roses.—
  Is it arrived at ruby?—Where I spy
  A wealthy citizen, or [a] rich lawyer,
  Have a sublimed pure wife, unto that fellow
  I'll send a thousand pound to be my cuckold.

  FACE. And I shall carry it?

  MAM. No. I'll have no bawds,
  But fathers and mothers: they will do it best,
  Best of all others. And my flatterers
  Shall be the pure and gravest of divines,
  That I can get for money. My mere fools,
  Eloquent burgesses, and then my poets
  The same that writ so subtly of the fart,
  Whom I will entertain still for that subject.
  The few that would give out themselves to be
  Court and town-stallions, and, each-where, bely
  Ladies who are known most innocent for them;
  Those will I beg, to make me eunuchs of:
  And they shall fan me with ten estrich tails
  A-piece, made in a plume to gather wind.
  We will be brave, Puffe, now we have the med'cine.
  My meat shall all come in, in Indian shells,
  Dishes of agat set in gold, and studded
  With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths, and rubies.
  The tongues of carps, dormice, and camels' heels,
  Boil'd in the spirit of sol, and dissolv'd pearl,
  Apicius' diet, 'gainst the epilepsy:
  And I will eat these broths with spoons of amber,
  Headed with diamond and carbuncle.
  My foot-boy shall eat pheasants, calver'd salmons,
  Knots, godwits, lampreys: I myself will have
  The beards of barbels served, instead of sallads;
  Oil'd mushrooms; and the swelling unctuous paps
  Of a fat pregnant sow, newly cut off,
  Drest with an exquisite, and poignant sauce;
  For which, I'll say unto my cook, "There's gold,
  Go forth, and be a knight."

  FACE. Sir, I'll go look
  A little, how it heightens.

  [EXIT.]

  MAM. Do.—My shirts
  I'll have of taffeta-sarsnet, soft and light
  As cobwebs; 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, perfumed
  With gums of paradise, and eastern air—

  SUR. 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,
  A notable, superstitious, good soul,
  Has worn his knees bare, and his slippers bald,
  With prayer and fasting for it: and, sir, let him
  Do it alone, for me, still. Here he comes.
  Not a profane word afore him: 'tis poison.—
  [ENTER SUBTLE.]
  Good morrow, father.

  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
  You are covetous, that thus you meet your time
  In the just point: prevent your day at 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 ungovern'd haste. I should be sorry
  To see my labours, now even at perfection,
  Got by long watching and large patience,
  Not prosper where my love and zeal hath placed them.
  Which (heaven I call to witness, with your self,
  To whom I have pour'd my thoughts) in all my ends,
  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
  A curse will follow, yea, and overtake
  Your subtle and most secret ways.

  MAM. I know, sir;
  You shall not need to fear me; I but come,
  To have you confute this gentleman.

  SUR. Who is,
  Indeed, sir, somewhat costive of belief
  Toward your stone; would not be gull'd.

  SUB. Well, son,
  All that I can convince him in, is this,
  The WORK IS DONE, bright sol is in his robe.
  We have a medicine of the triple soul,
  The glorified spirit. Thanks be to heaven,
  And make us worthy of it!—Ulen Spiegel!

  FACE [WITHIN]. Anon, sir.

  SUB. Look well to the register.
  And let your heat still lessen by degrees,
  To the aludels.

  FACE [WITHIN]. Yes, sir.

  SUB. Did you look
  On the bolt's-head yet?

  FACE [WITHIN]. Which? on D, sir?

  SUB. Ay;
  What's the complexion?

  FACE [WITHIN]. Whitish.

  SUB. Infuse vinegar,
  To draw his volatile substance and his tincture:
  And let the water in glass E be filter'd,
  And put into the gripe's egg. Lute him well;
  And leave him closed in balneo.

  FACE [WITHIN]. I will, sir.

  SUR. What a brave language here is! next to canting.

  SUB. I have another work, you never saw, son,
  That three days since past the philosopher's wheel,
  In the lent heat of Athanor; and's become
  Sulphur of Nature.

  MAM. But 'tis for me?

  SUB. What need you?
  You have enough in that is perfect.

  MAM. O but—

  SUB. Why, this is covetise!

  MAM. No, I assure you,
  I shall employ it all in pious uses,
  Founding of colleges and grammar schools,
  Marrying young virgins, building hospitals,
  And now and then a church.

  [RE-ENTER FACE.]

  SUB. How now!

  FACE. Sir, please you,
  Shall I not change the filter?

  SUB. Marry, yes;
  And bring me the complexion of glass B.

  [EXIT FACE.]

  MAM. Have you another?

  SUB. Yes, son; were I assured—
  Your piety were firm, we would not want
  The means to glorify it: but I hope the best.—
  I mean to tinct C in sand-heat to-morrow,
  And give him imbibition.

  MAM. Of white oil?

  SUB. No, sir, of red. F is come over the helm too,
  I thank my Maker, in S. Mary's bath,
  And shews lac virginis. Blessed be heaven!
  I sent you of his faeces there calcined:
  Out of that calx, I have won the salt of mercury.

  MAM. By pouring on your rectified water?

  SUB. Yes, and reverberating in Athanor.
  [RE-ENTER FACE.]
  How now! what colour says it?

  FACE. The ground black, sir.

  MAM. That's your crow's head?

  SUR. Your cock's-comb's, is it not?

  SUB. No, 'tis not perfect. Would it were the crow!
  That work wants something.

  SUR [ASIDE]. O, I looked for this.
  The hay's a pitching.

  SUB. Are you sure you loosed them
  In their own menstrue?

  FACE. Yes, sir, and then married them,
  And put them in a bolt's-head nipp'd to digestion,
  According as you bade me, when I set
  The liquor of Mars to circulation
  In the same heat.

  SUB. The process then was right.

  FACE. Yes, by the token, sir, the retort brake,
  And what was saved was put into the pellican,
  And sign'd with Hermes' seal.

  SUB. I think 'twas so.
  We should have a new amalgama.

  SUR [ASIDE]. O, this ferret
  Is rank as any pole-cat.

  SUB. But I care not:
  Let him e'en die; we have enough beside,
  In embrion. H has his white shirt on?

  FACE. Yes, sir,
  He's ripe for inceration, he stands warm,
  In his ash-fire. I would not you should let
  Any die now, if I might counsel, sir,
  For luck's sake to the rest: it is not good.

  MAM. He says right.

  SUR [ASIDE]. Ay, are you bolted?

  FACE. Nay, I know't, sir,
  I have seen the ill fortune. What is some three ounces
  Of fresh materials?

  MAM. Is't no more?

  FACE. No more, sir.
  Of gold, t'amalgame with some six of mercury.

  MAM. Away, here's money. What will serve?

  FACE. Ask him, sir.

  MAM. How much?

  SUB. Give him nine pound:—you may give him ten.

  SUR. Yes, twenty, and be cozen'd, do.

  MAM. There 'tis.
  [GIVES FACE THE MONEY.]

  SUB. This needs not; but that you will have it so,
  To see conclusions of all: for two
  Of our inferior works are at fixation,
  A third is in ascension. Go your ways.
  Have you set the oil of luna in kemia?

  FACE. Yes, sir.

  SUB. And the philosopher's vinegar?

  FACE. Ay.

  [EXIT.]

  SUR. We shall have a sallad!

  MAM. When do you make projection?

  SUB. Son, be not hasty, I exalt our med'cine,
  By hanging him in balneo vaporoso,
  And giving him solution; then congeal him;
  And then dissolve him; then again congeal him;
  For look, how oft I iterate the work,
  So many times I add unto his virtue.
  As, if at first one ounce convert a hundred,
  After his second loose, he'll turn a thousand;
  His third solution, ten; his fourth, a hundred:
  After his fifth, a thousand thousand ounces
  Of any imperfect metal, into pure
  Silver or gold, in all examinations,
  As good as any of the natural mine.
  Get you your stuff here against afternoon,
  Your brass, your pewter, and your andirons.

  MAM. Not those of iron?

  SUB. Yes, you may bring them too:
  We'll change all metals.

  SUR. I believe you in that.

  MAM. Then I may send my spits?

  SUB. Yes, and your racks.

  SUR. And dripping-pans, and pot-hangers, and hooks?
  Shall he not?

  SUB. If he please.

  SUR.—To be an ass.

  SUB. How, sir!

  MAM. This gentleman you must bear withal:
  I told you he had no faith.

  SUR. And little hope, sir;
  But much less charity, should I gull myself.

  SUB. Why, what have you observ'd, sir, in our art,
  Seems so impossible?

  SUR. But your whole work, no more.
  That you should hatch gold in a furnace, sir,
  As they do eggs in Egypt!

  SUB. Sir, do you
  Believe that eggs are hatch'd so?

  SUR. If I should?

  SUB. Why, I think that the greater miracle.
  No egg but differs from a chicken more
  Than metals in themselves.

  SUR. That cannot be.
  The egg's ordain'd by nature to that end,
  And is a chicken in potentia.

  SUB. The same we say of lead and other metals,
  Which would be gold, if they had time.

  MAM. And that
  Our art doth further.

  SUB. Ay, for 'twere absurb
  To think that nature in the earth bred gold
  Perfect in the instant: something went before.
  There must be remote matter.

  SUR. Ay, what is that?

  SUB. Marry, we say—

  MAM. Ay, now it heats: stand, father,
  Pound him to dust.

  SUB. It is, of the one part,
  A humid exhalation, which we call
  Material liquida, or the unctuous water;
  On the other part, a certain crass and vicious
  Portion of earth; both which, concorporate,
  Do make the elementary matter of gold;
  Which is not yet propria materia,
  But common to all metals and all stones;
  For, where it is forsaken of that moisture,
  And hath more driness, it becomes a stone:
  Where it retains more of the humid fatness,
  It turns to sulphur, or to quicksilver,
  Who are the parents of all other metals.
  Nor can this remote matter suddenly
  Progress so from extreme unto extreme,
  As to grow gold, and leap o'er all the means.
  Nature doth first beget the imperfect, then
  Proceeds she to the perfect. Of that airy
  And oily water, mercury is engender'd;
  Sulphur of the fat and earthy part; the one,
  Which is the last, supplying the place of male,
  The other of the female, in all metals.
  Some do believe hermaphrodeity,
  That both do act and suffer. But these two
  Make the rest