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

as furious as his sister’s mad. Sir Epicure Mammon

Alas!

Face

My brain is quite undone with the fume, sir,
I ne’er must hope to be mine own man again.

Sir Epicure Mammon

Is all lost, Lungs? Will nothing be preserved
Of all our cost?

Face

Faith, very little, sir;
A peck of coals or so, which is cold comfort, sir.

Sir Epicure Mammon

O, my voluptuous mind! I am justly punished.

Face

And so am I, sir.

Sir Epicure Mammon

Cast from all my hopes⁠—

Face

Nay, certainties, sir.

Sir Epicure Mammon

By mine own base affections.

Subtle

Seeming to come to himself.
O, the curst fruits of vice and lust!

Sir Epicure Mammon

Good Father,
It was my sin. Forgive it.

Subtle

Hangs my roof
Over us still, and will not fall, O justice,
Upon us, for this wicked man!

Face

Nay, look, sir,
You grieve him now with staying in his sight:
Good sir, the nobleman will come too, and take you,
And that may breed a tragedy.

Sir Epicure Mammon

I’ll go.

Face

Ay, and repent at home, sir. It may be,
For some good penance you may have it yet;
A hundred pound to the box at Bedlam⁠—

Sir Epicure Mammon

Yes.

Face

For the restoring such as⁠—have their wits.

Sir Epicure Mammon

I’ll do’t.

Face

I’ll send one to you to receive it.

Sir Epicure Mammon

Do.
Is no projection left?

Face

All flown, or stinks, sir.

Sir Epicure Mammon

Will nought be saved that’s good for medicine, think’st thou?

Face

I cannot tell, sir. There will be perhaps,
Something about the scraping of the shards,
Will cure the itch⁠—though not your itch of mind, sir.
Aside.
It shall be saved for you, and sent home. Good sir,
This way, for fear the lord should meet you.

Exit Mammon. Subtle

Raising his head. Face!

Face

Ay.

Subtle

Is he gone?

Face

Yes, and as heavily
As all the gold he hoped for were in’s blood.
Let us be light though.

Subtle

Leaping up. Ay, as balls, and bound
And hit our heads against the roof for joy:
There’s so much of our care now cast away.

Face

Now to our Don.

Subtle

Yes, your young widow by this time
Is made a countess, Face; she has been in travail
Of a young heir for you.

Face

Good sir.

Subtle

Off with your case,
And greet her kindly, as a bridegroom should,
After these common hazards.

Face

Very well, sir.
Will you go fetch Don Diego off, the while?

Subtle

And fetch him over too, if you’ll be pleased, sir:
Would Dol were in her place, to pick his pockets now!

Face

Why, you can do’t as well, if you would set to’t.
I pray you prove your virtue.

Subtle

For your sake sir.

Exeunt. Scene IV

Another room in the same.

Enter Surly and Dame Pliant. Pertinax Surly

Lady, you see into what hands you are fallen;
’Mongst what a nest of villains! And how near
Your honour was t’ have catched a certain clap,
Through your credulity, had I but been
So punctually forward, as place, time,
And other circumstances would have made a man;
For you’re a handsome woman: would you were wise too!
I am a gentleman come here disguised,
Only to find the knaveries of this citadel;
And where I might have wronged your honour, and have not,
I claim some interest in your love. You are,
They say, a widow, rich: and I’m a bachelor,
Worth nought: your fortunes may make me a man,
As mine have preserved you a woman. Think upon it,
And whether I have deserved you or no.

Dame Pliant

I will, sir.

Pertinax Surly

And for these household-rogues, let me alone
To treat with them.

Enter Subtle. Subtle

How doth my noble Diego,
And my dear madam Countess? Hath the Count
Been courteous, lady? Liberal, and open?
Donzel, methinks you look melancholic,
After your coitum, and scurvy: truly,
I do not like the dullness of your eye;
It hath a heavy cast, ’tis upsee Dutch,
And says you are a lumpish whoremaster.
Be lighter, and I will make your pockets so.
Attempts to pick them.

Pertinax Surly

Throws open his cloak. Will you, don bawd and pickpurse?
Strikes him down.
How now! Reel you?
Stand up, sir, you shall find, since I am so heavy,
I’ll give you equal weight.

Subtle

Help! Murder!

Pertinax Surly

No, sir,
There’s no such thing intended: a good cart,
And a clean whip shall ease you of that fear.
I am the Spanish Don “that should be cozened,
Do you see, cozened?” Where’s your Captain Face,
That parcel broker, and whole-bawd, all rascal!

Enter Face, in his uniform. Face

How, Surly!

Pertinax Surly

O, make your approach, good Captain.
I have found from whence your copper rings and spoons
Come, now, wherewith you cheat abroad in taverns.
’Twas here you learned t’ anoint your boot with brimstone,
Then rub men’s gold on’t for a kind of touch,
And say ’twas naught, when you had changed the colour,
That you might have’t for nothing. And this Doctor,
Your sooty, smoky-bearded compeer, he
Will close you so much gold, in a bolt’s head,
And, on a turn, convey in the stead another
With sublimed mercury, that shall burst in the heat,
And fly out all in fumo! Then weeps Mammon;
Then swoons his worship.

Face slips out.

Or, he is the Faustus,
That casteth figures and can conjure, cures
Plagues, piles, and pox, by the ephemerides,
And holds intelligence with all the bawds
And midwives of three shires: while you send in⁠—
Captain!⁠—what! Is he gone?⁠—damsels with child,
Wives that are barren, or the waiting-maid
With the green sickness.
Seizes Subtle as he is retiring.
—Nay, sir, you must tarry,
Though he be ’scaped; and answer by the ears, sir.

Re-enter Face, with Kastril. Face

Why, now’s the time, if ever you will quarrel
Well, as they say, and be a true-born child:
The Doctor and your sister both are abused.

Kastril

Where is he? Which is he? He is a slave,
Whate’er he is, and the son of a whore.⁠—Are you
The man, sir, I would know?

Pertinax Surly

I should be loath, sir,
To confess so much.

Kastril

Then you lie in your throat.

Pertinax Surly

How!

Face

To Kastril. A very errant rogue, sir, and a cheater,
Employed here by another conjurer
That does not love the Doctor, and would cross him,
If he knew