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

be a knight.” Face

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

Exit. Sir Epicure Mammon

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—

Pertinax Surly

And do you think to have the stone with this?

Sir Epicure Mammon

No, I do think t’ have all this with the stone.

Pertinax Surly

Why, I have heard he must be homo frugi,
A pious, holy, and religious man,
One free from mortal sin, a very virgin.

Sir Epicure Mammon

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.

Subtle

Gentle son, good morrow,
And to your friend there. What is he, is with you?

Sir Epicure Mammon

An heretic, that I did bring along,
In hope, sir, to convert him.

Subtle

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 ungoverned 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 yourself,
To whom I have poured my thoughts) in all my ends,
Have looked 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.

Sir Epicure Mammon

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

Pertinax Surly

Who is,
Indeed, sir, somewhat costive of belief
Toward your stone; would not be gulled.

Subtle

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.

Subtle

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

Face

Within. Yes, sir.

Subtle

Did you look
On the bolt’s head yet?

Face

Within. Which? On D, sir?

Subtle

Ay;
What’s the complexion?

Face

Within. Whitish.

Subtle

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

Face

Within. I will, sir.

Pertinax Surly

What a brave language here is! Next to canting.

Subtle

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.

Sir Epicure Mammon

But ’tis for me?

Subtle

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

Sir Epicure Mammon

O but⁠—

Subtle

Why, this is covetise!

Sir Epicure Mammon

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. Subtle

How now!

Face

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

Subtle

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

Exit Face. Sir Epicure Mammon

Have you another?

Subtle

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 tomorrow,
And give him imbibition.

Sir Epicure Mammon

Of white oil?

Subtle

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

Sir Epicure Mammon

By pouring on your rectified water?

Subtle

Yes, and reverberating in Athanor.

Re-enter Face.

How now! What colour says it?

Face

The ground black, sir.

Sir Epicure Mammon

That’s your crow’s head?

Pertinax Surly

Your cockscomb’s, is it not?

Subtle

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

Pertinax Surly

Aside. O, I looked for this.
The hay’s a pitching.

Subtle

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 nipped to digestion,
According as you bade me, when I set
The liquor of Mars to circulation
In the same heat.

Subtle

The process then was right.

Face

Yes, by the token, sir, the retort brake,
And what was saved was put into the pelican,
And signed with Hermes’ seal.

Subtle

I think ’twas so.
We should have a new amalgama.

Pertinax Surly

Aside. O, this ferret
Is rank as any polecat.

Subtle

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.

Sir Epicure Mammon

He says right.

Pertinax Surly

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?

Sir Epicure Mammon

Is’t no more?

Face

No more, sir.
Of gold, t’amalgam with some six of mercury.

Sir Epicure Mammon

Away, here’s money. What will serve?

Face

Ask him, sir.

Sir Epicure Mammon

How much?

Subtle

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

Pertinax Surly

Yes, twenty, and be cozened, do.

Sir Epicure Mammon

There ’tis.
Gives Face the money.

Subtle

This needs not; but that you will have it so,
To see conclusions of all: for two
Of our inferior works