The Alchemist, Ben Jonson [best short novels TXT] 📗

graces pass the hours? I see
You are lodged here, in the house of a rare man,
An excellent artist; but what’s that to you? Dol Common

Yes, sir; I study here the mathematics,
And distillation.

Sir Epicure Mammon

O, I cry your pardon.
He’s a divine instructor! Can extract
The souls of all things by his art; call all
The virtues, and the miracles of the sun,
Into a temperate furnace; teach dull nature
What her own forces are. A man, the emperor
Has courted above Kelly; sent his medals
And chains, to invite him.

Dol Common

Ay, and for his physic, sir⁠—

Sir Epicure Mammon

Above the art of Aesculapius,
That drew the envy of the thunderer!
I know all this, and more.

Dol Common

Troth, I am taken, sir,
Whole with these studies, that contemplate nature.

Sir Epicure Mammon

It is a noble humour; but this form
Was not intended to so dark a use.
Had you been crooked, foul, of some coarse mould
A cloister had done well; but such a feature
That might stand up the glory of a kingdom,
To live recluse! Is a mere soloecism,
Though in a nunnery. It must not be.
I muse, my lord your brother will permit it:
You should spend half my land first, were I he.
Does not this diamond better on my finger,
Than in the quarry?

Dol Common

Yes.

Sir Epicure Mammon

Why, you are like it.
You were created, lady, for the light.
Here, you shall wear it; take it, the first pledge
Of what I speak, to bind you to believe me.

Dol Common

In chains of adamant?

Sir Epicure Mammon

Yes, the strongest bands.
And take a secret too⁠—here, by your side,
Doth stand this hour, the happiest man in Europe.

Dol Common

You are contended, sir!

Sir Epicure Mammon

Nay, in true being,
The envy of princes and the fear of states.

Dol Common

Say you so, Sir Epicure?

Sir Epicure Mammon

Yes, and thou shalt prove it,
Daughter of honour. I have cast mine eye
Upon thy form, and I will rear this beauty
Above all styles.

Dol Common

You mean no treason, sir?

Sir Epicure Mammon

No, I will take away that jealousy.
I am the lord of the philosopher’s stone,
And thou the lady.

Dol Common

How, sir! Have you that?

Sir Epicure Mammon

I am the master of the mystery.
This day the good old wretch here o’ the house
Has made it for us: now he’s at projection.
Think therefore thy first wish now, let me hear it;
And it shall rain into thy lap, no shower,
But floods of gold, whole cataracts, a deluge,
To get a nation on thee.

Dol Common

You are pleased, sir,
To work on the ambition of our sex.

Sir Epicure Mammon

I am pleased the glory of her sex should know,
This nook, here, of the Friars is no climate
For her to live obscurely in, to learn
Physic and surgery, for the constable’s wife
Of some odd hundred in Essex; but come forth,
And taste the air of palaces; eat, drink
The toils of empirics, and their boasted practice;
Tincture of pearl, and coral, gold, and amber;
Be seen at feasts and triumphs; have it asked,
What miracle she is; set all the eyes
Of court afire, like a burning glass,
And work them into cinders, when the jewels
Of twenty states adorn thee, and the light
Strikes out the stars! That when thy name is mentioned,
Queens may look pale; and we but showing our love,
Nero’s Poppaea may be lost in story!
Thus will we have it.

Dol Common

I could well consent, sir.
But, in a monarchy, how will this be?
The prince will soon take notice, and both seize
You and your stone, it being a wealth unfit
For any private subject.

Sir Epicure Mammon

If he knew it.

Dol Common

Yourself do boast it, sir.

Sir Epicure Mammon

To thee, my life.

Dol Common

O, but beware, sir! You may come to end
The remnants of your days in a loathed prison,
By speaking of it.

Sir Epicure Mammon

’Tis no idle fear.
We’ll therefore go withal, my girl, and live
In a free state, where we will eat our mullets,
Soused in high-country wines, sup pheasants’ eggs,
And have our cockles boiled in silver shells;
Our shrimps to swim again, as when they lived,
In a rare butter made of dolphins’ milk,
Whose cream does look like opals; and with these
Delicate meats set ourselves high for pleasure,
And take us down again, and then renew
Our youth and strength with drinking the elixir,
And so enjoy a perpetuity
Of life and lust! And thou shalt have thy wardrobe
Richer than nature’s, still to change thyself,
And vary oftener, for thy pride, than she,
Or art, her wise and almost-equal servant.

Re-enter Face. Face

Sir, you are too loud. I hear you every word
Into the laboratory. Some fitter place;
The garden, or great chamber above. How like you her?

Sir Epicure Mammon

Excellent! Lungs. There’s for thee.

Gives him money. Face

But do you hear?
Good sir, beware, no mention of the Rabbins.

Sir Epicure Mammon

We think not on ’em.

Exeunt Mammon and Dol. Face

O, it is well, sir.⁠—Subtle!

Enter Subtle.

Dost thou not laugh?

Subtle

Yes; are they gone?

Face

All’s clear.

Subtle

The widow is come.

Face

And your quarrelling disciple?

Subtle

Ay.

Face

I must to my captainship again then.

Subtle

Stay, bring them in first.

Face

So I meant. What is she?
A bonnibel?

Subtle

I know not.

Face

We’ll draw lots:
You’ll stand to that?

Subtle

What else?

Face

O, for a suit,
To fall now like a curtain, flap!

Subtle

To the door, man.

Face

You’ll have the first kiss, ’cause I am not ready.

Exit. Subtle

Yes, and perhaps hit you through both the nostrils.

Face

Within. Who would you speak with?

Kastril

Within. Where’s the Captain?

Face

Within. Gone, sir,
About some business.

Kastril

Within. Gone!

Face

Within. He’ll return straight.
But Master Doctor, his lieutenant, is here.

Enter Kastril, followed by Dame Pliant. Subtle

Come near, my worshipful boy, my terrae fili,
That is, my boy of land; make thy approaches:
Welcome; I know thy lusts, and thy desires,
And I will serve and satisfy them. Begin,
Charge me from thence, or thence, or in this line;
Here is my centre: ground thy quarrel.

Kastril

You lie.

Subtle

How, child of wrath and anger! The loud lie?
For what, my sudden boy?