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

that would break
Such an inextricable tie as ours was. Dol Common

Let me alone to fit him.

Re-enter Face. Face

Come, my venturers,
You have packed up all? Where be the trunks? Bring forth.

Subtle

Here.

Face

Let us see them. Where’s the money?

Subtle

Here,
In this.

Face

Mammon’s ten pound; eight score before:
The Brethren’s money, this. Drugger’s and Dapper’s.
What paper’s that?

Dol Common

The jewel of the waiting maid’s,
That stole it from her lady, to know certain⁠—

Face

If she should have precedence of her mistress?

Dol Common

Yes.

Face

What box is that?

Subtle

The fishwives’ rings, I think,
And the alewives’ single money. Is’t not, Dol?

Dol Common

Yes; and the whistle that the sailor’s wife
Brought you to know an her husband were with Ward.

Face

We’ll wet it tomorrow; and our silver-beakers
And tavern cups. Where be the French petticoats,
And girdles and hangers?

Subtle

Here, in the trunk,
And the bolts of lawn.

Face

Is Drugger’s damask there,
And the tobacco?

Subtle

Yes.

Face

Give me the keys.

Dol Common

Why you the keys?

Subtle

No matter, Dol; because
We shall not open them before he comes.

Face

’Tis true, you shall not open them, indeed;
Nor have them forth, do you see? Not forth, Dol.

Dol Common

No!

Face

No, my smock rampant. The right is, my master
Knows all, has pardoned me, and he will keep them;
Doctor, ’tis true⁠—you look⁠—for all your figures:
I sent for him, indeed. Wherefore, good partners,
Both he and she be satisfied; for here
Determines the indenture tripartite
’Twixt Subtle, Dol, and Face. All I can do
Is to help you over the wall, o’ the backside,
Or lend you a sheet to save your velvet gown, Dol.
Here will be officers presently, bethink you
Of some course suddenly to ’scape the dock:
For thither you will come else.
Loud knocking.
Hark you, thunder.

Subtle

You are a precious fiend!

Officer

Without. Open the door.

Face

Dol, I am sorry for thee i’faith; but hear’st thou?
It shall go hard but I will place thee somewhere:
Thou shalt have my letter to mistress Amo⁠—

Dol Common

Hang you!

Face

Or madam Caesarean.

Dol Common

Pox upon you, rogue,
Would I had but time to beat thee!

Face

Subtle,
Let’s know where you set up next; I will send you
A customer now and then, for old acquaintance:
What new course have you?

Subtle

Rogue, I’ll hang myself;
That I may walk a greater devil than thou,
And haunt thee in the flock-bed and the buttery.

Exeunt. Scene III

An outer room in the same.

Enter Lovewit in the Spanish dress, with the Parson. Loud knocking at the door. Lovewit

What do you mean, my masters?

Sir Epicure Mammon

Without. Open your door,
Cheaters, bawds, conjurers.

Officer

Without. Or we will break it open.

Lovewit

What warrant have you?

Officer

Without. Warrant enough, sir, doubt not,
If you’ll not open it.

Lovewit

Is there an officer, there?

Officer

Without. Yes, two or three for failing.

Lovewit

Have but patience,
And I will open it straight.

Enter Face, as butler. Face

Sir, have you done?
Is it a marriage? Perfect?

Lovewit

Yes, my brain.

Face

Off with your ruff and cloak then; be yourself, sir.

Pertinax Surly

Without. Down with the door.

Kastril

Without. ’Slight, ding it open.

Lovewit

Opening the door. Hold,
Hold, gentlemen, what means this violence?

Mammon, Surly, Kastril, Ananias, Tribulation, and Officers, rush in. Sir Epicure Mammon

Where is this collier?

Pertinax Surly

And my Captain Face?

Sir Epicure Mammon

These day owls.

Pertinax Surly

That are birding in men’s purses.

Sir Epicure Mammon

Madam Suppository.

Kastril

Doxy, my sister.

Ananias

Locusts
Of the foul pit.

Tribulation Wholesome

Profane as Bel and the dragon.

Ananias

Worse than the grasshoppers, or the lice of Egypt.

Lovewit

Good gentlemen, hear me. Are you officers,
And cannot stay this violence?

1 Officer

Keep the peace.

Lovewit

Gentlemen, what is the matter? Whom do you seek?

Sir Epicure Mammon

The chemical cozener.

Pertinax Surly

And the Captain pander.

Kastril

The nun my sister.

Sir Epicure Mammon

Madam Rabbi.

Ananias

Scorpions,
And caterpillars.

Lovewit

Fewer at once, I pray you.

2 Officer

One after another, gentlemen, I charge you,
By virtue of my staff.

Ananias

They are the vessels
Of pride, lust, and the cart.

Lovewit

Good zeal, lie still
A little while.

Tribulation Wholesome

Peace, deacon Ananias.

Lovewit

The house is mine here, and the doors are open;
If there be any such persons as you seek for,
Use your authority, search on o’ God’s name.
I am but newly come to town, and finding
This tumult ’bout my door, to tell you true,
It somewhat mazed me; till my man, here, fearing
My more displeasure, told me he had done
Somewhat an insolent part, let out my house
(Belike, presuming on my known aversion
From any air o’ the town while there was sickness,)
To a Doctor and a Captain: who, what they are
Or where they be, he knows not.

Sir Epicure Mammon

Are they gone?

Lovewit

You may go in and search, sir.

Mammon, Ananias, and Tribulation go in.

Here, I find
The empty walls worse than I left them, smoked,
A few cracked pots, and glasses, and a furnace:
The ceiling filled with poesies of the candle,
And madam with a dildo writ o’ the walls:
Only one gentlewoman, I met here,
That is within, that said she was a widow⁠—

Kastril

Ay, that’s my sister; I’ll go thump her. Where is she?

Goes in. Lovewit

And should have married a Spanish Count, but he,
When he came to’t, neglected her so grossly,
That I, a widower, am gone through with her.

Pertinax Surly

How! Have I lost her then?

Lovewit

Were you the Don, sir?
Good faith, now, she does blame you extremely, and says
You swore, and told her you had taken the pains
To dye your beard, and umber o’er your face,
Borrowed a suit, and ruff, all for her love;
And then did nothing. What an oversight,
And want of putting forward, sir, was this!
Well fare an old harquebuzier, yet,
Could prime his powder, and give fire, and hit,
All in a twinkling!

Re-enter Mammon. Sir Epicure Mammon

The whole nest are fled!

Lovewit

What sort of birds were they?

Sir Epicure Mammon

A kind of choughs,
Or thievish daws, sir, that have picked