MAM. How might one do t' have conference with her, Lungs?

FACE. O divers have run mad upon the conference: I do not know, sir. I am sent in haste, To fetch a vial.

SUR. Be not gull'd, sir Mammon.

MAM. Wherein? pray ye, be patient.

SUR. Yes, as you are, And trust confederate knaves and bawds and wh.o.r.es.

MAM. You are too foul, believe it. -- Come here, Ulen, One word.

FACE. I dare not, in good faith. [GOING.]

MAM. Stay, knave.

FACE. He is extreme angry that you saw her, sir.

MAM. Drink that. [GIVES HIM MONEY.] What is she when she's out of her fit?

FACE. O, the most affablest creature, sir! so merry! So pleasant! she'll mount you up, like quicksilver, Over the helm; and circulate like oil, A very vegetal: discourse of state, Of mathematics, bawdry, any thing -- MAM. Is she no way accessible? no means, No trick to give a man a taste of her -- wit -- Or so?

SUB [WITHIN]. Ulen!

FACE. I'll come to you again, sir.

[EXIT.]

MAM. Surly, I did not think one of your breeding Would traduce personages of worth.

SUR. Sir Epicure, Your friend to use; yet still loth to be gull'd: I do not like your philosophical bawds. Their stone is letchery enough to pay for, Without this bait.

MAM. 'Heart, you abuse yourself. I know the lady, and her friends, and means, The original of this disaster. Her brother Has told me all.

SUR. And yet you never saw her Till now!

MAM. O yes, but I forgot. I have, believe it, One of the treacherousest memories, I do think, Of all mankind.

SUR. What call you her brother?

MAM. My lord -- He will not have his name known, now I think on't.

SUR. A very treacherous memory!

MAM. On my faith -- SUR. Tut, if you have it not about you, pa.s.s it, Till we meet next.

MAM. Nay, by this hand, 'tis true. He's one I honour, and my n.o.ble friend; And I respect his house.

SUR. Heart! can it be, That a grave sir, a rich, that has no need, A wise sir, too, at other times, should thus, With his own oaths, and arguments, make hard means To gull himself? An this be your elixir, Your lapis mineralis, and your lunary, Give me your honest trick yet at primero, Or gleek; and take your lutum sapientis, Your menstruum simplex! I'll have gold before you, And with less danger of the quicksilver, Or the hot sulphur.

[RE-ENTER FACE.]

FACE. Here's one from Captain Face, sir, [TO SURLY.] Desires you meet him in the Temple-church, Some half-hour hence, and upon earnest business. Sir, [WHISPERS MAMMON.] if you please to quit us, now; and come Again within two hours, you shall have My master busy examining o' the works; And I will steal you in, unto the party, That you may see her converse. -- Sir, shall I say, You'll meet the captain's worship?

SUR. Sir, I will. -- [WALKS ASIDE.] But, by attorney, and to a second purpose. Now, I am sure it is a bawdy-house; I'll swear it, were the marshal here to thank me: The naming this commander doth confirm it. Don Face! why, he's the most authentic dealer In these commodities, the superintendant To all the quainter traffickers in town! He is the visitor, and does appoint, Who lies with whom, and at what hour; what price; Which gown, and in what smock; what fall; what tire. Him will I prove, by a third person, to find The subtleties of this dark labyrinth: Which if I do discover, dear sir Mammon, You'll give your poor friend leave, though no philosopher, To laugh: for you that are, 'tis thought, shall weep.

FACE. Sir, he does pray, you'll not forget.

SUR. I will not, sir. Sir Epicure, I shall leave you.

[EXIT.]

MAM. I follow you, straight.

FACE. But do so, good sir, to avoid suspicion. This gentleman has a parlous head.

MAM. But wilt thou Ulen, Be constant to thy promise?

FACE. As my life, sir.

MAM. And wilt thou insinuate what I am, and praise me, And say, I am a n.o.ble fellow?

FACE. O, what else, sir? And that you'll make her royal with the stone, An empress; and yourself, King of Bantam.

MAM. Wilt thou do this?

FACE. Will I, sir!

MAM. Lungs, my Lungs! I love thee.

FACE. Send your stuff, sir, that my master May busy himself about projection.

MAM. Thou hast witch'd me, rogue: take, go. [GIVES HIM MONEY.]

FACE. Your jack, and all, sir.

MAM. Thou art a villain -- I will send my jack, And the weights too. Slave, I could bite thine ear. Away, thou dost not care for me.

FACE. Not I, sir!

MAM. Come, I was born to make thee, my good weasel, Set thee on a bench, and have thee twirl a chain With the best lord's vermin of 'em all.

FACE. Away, sir.

MAM. A count, nay, a count palatine -- FACE. Good, sir, go.

MAM. Shall not advance thee better: no, nor faster.

[EXIT.]

[RE-ENTER SUBTLE AND DOL.]

SUB. Has he bit? has he bit?

FACE. And swallowed, too, my Subtle. I have given him line, and now he plays, i'faith.

SUB. And shall we twitch him?

FACE. Thorough both the gills. A wench is a rare bait, with which a man No sooner's taken, but he straight firks mad.

SUB. Dol, my Lord What'ts'hums sister, you must now Bear yourself statelich.

DOL. O let me alone. I'll not forget my race, I warrant you. I'll keep my distance, laugh and talk aloud; Have all the tricks of a proud scurvy lady, And be as rude as her woman.

FACE. Well said, sanguine!

SUB. But will he send his andirons?

FACE. His jack too, And's iron shoeing-horn; I have spoke to him. Well, I must not lose my wary gamester yonder.

SUB. O monsieur Caution, that WILL NOT BE GULL'D?

FACE. Ay, If I can strike a fine hook into him, now! The Temple-church, there I have cast mine angle. Well, pray for me. I'll about it. [KNOCKING WITHOUT.]

SUB. What, more gudgeons! Dol, scout, scout! [DOL GOES TO THE WINDOW.] Stay, Face, you must go to the door, 'Pray G.o.d it be my anabaptist -- Who is't, Dol?

DOL. I know him not: he looks like a gold-endman.

SUB. Ods so! 'tis he, he said he would send what call you him? The sanctified elder, that should deal For Mammon's jack and andirons. Let him in. Stay, help me off, first, with my gown. [EXIT FACE WITH THE GOWN.] Away, Madam, to your withdrawing chamber. [EXIT DOL.] Now, In a new tune, new gesture, but old language. -- This fellow is sent from one negociates with me About the stone too, for the holy brethren Of Amsterdam, the exiled saints, that hope To raise their discipline by it. I must use him In some strange fashion, now, to make him admire me. -- [ENTER ANANIAS.] [ALOUD.] Where is my drudge?

[RE-ENTER FACE.]

FACE. Sir!

SUB. Take away the recipient, And rectify your menstrue from the phlegma. Then pour it on the Sol, in the cucurbite, And let them macerate together.

FACE. Yes, sir. And save the ground?

SUB. No: terra d.a.m.nata Must not have entrance in the work. -- Who are you?

ANA. A faithful brother, if it please you.

SUB. What's that? A Lullianist? a Ripley? Filius artis? Can you sublime and dulcify? calcine? Know you the sapor pontic? sapor stiptic? Or what is h.o.m.ogene, or heterogene?

ANA. I understand no heathen language, truly.

SUB. Heathen! you Knipper-doling? is Ars sacra, Or chrysopoeia, or spagyrica, Or the pamphysic, or panarchic knowledge, A heathen language?

ANA. Heathen Greek, I take it.

SUB. How! heathen Greek?

ANA. All's heathen but the Hebrew.

SUB. Sirrah, my varlet, stand you forth and speak to him, Like a philosopher: answer in the language. Name the vexations, and the martyrisations Of metals in the work.

FACE. Sir, putrefaction, Solution, ablution, sublimation, Cohobation, calcination, ceration, and Fixation.

SUB. This is heathen Greek to you, now! -- And when comes vivification?

FACE. After mortification.

SUB. What's cohobation?

FACE. 'Tis the pouring on Your aqua regis, and then drawing him off, To the trine circle of the seven spheres.

SUB. What's the proper pa.s.sion of metals?

FACE. Malleation.

SUB. What's your ultimum supplicium auri?

FACE. Antimonium.

SUB. This is heathen Greek to you! -- And what's your mercury?

FACE. A very fugitive, he will be gone, sir.

SUB. How know you him?

FACE. By his viscosity, His oleosity, and his suscitability.

SUB. How do you sublime him?

FACE. With the calce of egg-sh.e.l.ls, White marble, talc.

SUB. Your magisterium now, What's that?

FACE. Shifting, sir, your elements, Dry into cold, cold into moist, moist into hot, Hot into dry.

SUB. This is heathen Greek to you still! Your lapis philosophicus?

FACE. 'Tis a stone, And not a stone; a spirit, a soul, and a body: Which if you do dissolve, it is dissolved; If you coagulate, it is coagulated; If you make it to fly, it flieth.

SUB. Enough. [EXIT FACE.] This is heathen Greek to you! What are you, sir?

ANA. Please you, a servant of the exiled brethren, That deal with widows' and with orphans' goods, And make a just account unto the saints: A deacon.

SUB. O, you are sent from master Wholesome, Your teacher?