The Alchemist Ben Jonson (different e readers TXT) š
- Author: Ben Jonson
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Alas!
FaceMy brain is quite undone with the fume, sir,
I neāer must hope to be mine own man again.
Is all lost, Lungs? Will nothing be preserved
Of all our cost?
Faith, very little, sir;
A peck of coals or so, which is cold comfort, sir.
O, my voluptuous mind! I am justly punished.
FaceAnd so am I, sir.
Sir Epicure MammonCast from all my hopesā ā
FaceNay, certainties, sir.
Sir Epicure MammonBy mine own base affections.
SubtleSeeming to come to himself.
O, the curst fruits of vice and lust!
Good Father,
It was my sin. Forgive it.
Hangs my roof
Over us still, and will not fall, O justice,
Upon us, for this wicked man!
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.
Iāll go.
FaceAy, and repent at home, sir. It may be,
For some good penance you may have it yet;
A hundred pound to the box at Bedlamā ā
Yes.
FaceFor the restoring such asā āhave their wits.
Sir Epicure MammonIāll doāt.
FaceIāll send one to you to receive it.
Sir Epicure MammonDo.
Is no projection left?
All flown, or stinks, sir.
Sir Epicure MammonWill nought be saved thatās good for medicine, thinkāst thou?
FaceI cannot tell, sir. There will be perhaps,
Something about the scraping of the shards,
Will cure the itchā āthough 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.
Raising his head. Face!
FaceAy.
SubtleIs he gone?
FaceYes, and as heavily
As all the gold he hoped for were inās blood.
Let us be light though.
Leaping up. Ay, as balls, and bound
And hit our heads against the roof for joy:
Thereās so much of our care now cast away.
Now to our Don.
SubtleYes, your young widow by this time
Is made a countess, Face; she has been in travail
Of a young heir for you.
Good sir.
SubtleOff with your case,
And greet her kindly, as a bridegroom should,
After these common hazards.
Very well, sir.
Will you go fetch Don Diego off, the while?
And fetch him over too, if youāll be pleased, sir:
Would Dol were in her place, to pick his pockets now!
Why, you can doāt as well, if you would set toāt.
I pray you prove your virtue.
For your sake sir.
Exeunt. Scene IVAnother room in the same.
Enter Surly and Dame Pliant. Pertinax SurlyLady, you see into what hands you are fallen;
āMongst what a nest of villains! And how near
Your honour was tā 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 youāre 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 Iām 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.
I will, sir.
Pertinax SurlyAnd for these household-rogues, let me alone
To treat with them.
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, ātis upsee Dutch,
And says you are a lumpish whoremaster.
Be lighter, and I will make your pockets so.
Attempts to pick them.
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,
Iāll give you equal weight.
Help! Murder!
Pertinax SurlyNo, sir,
Thereās no such thing intended: a good cart,
And a clean whip shall ease you of that fear.
I am the Spanish Don āthat should be cozened,
Do you see, cozened?ā Whereās your Captain Face,
That parcel broker, and whole-bawd, all rascal!
How, Surly!
Pertinax SurlyO, make your approach, good Captain.
I have found from whence your copper rings and spoons
Come, now, wherewith you cheat abroad in taverns.
āTwas here you learned tā anoint your boot with brimstone,
Then rub menās gold onāt for a kind of touch,
And say ātwas naught, when you had changed the colour,
That you might haveāt for nothing. And this Doctor,
Your sooty, smoky-bearded compeer, he
Will close you so much gold, in a boltās 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.
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 inā ā
Captain!ā āwhat! Is he gone?ā ādamsels with child,
Wives that are barren, or the waiting-maid
With the green sickness.
Seizes Subtle as he is retiring.
āNay, sir, you must tarry,
Though he be āscaped; and answer by the ears, sir.
Why, nowās 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.
Where is he? Which is he? He is a slave,
Whateāer he is, and the son of a whore.ā āAre you
The man, sir, I would know?
I should be loath, sir,
To confess so much.
Then you lie in your throat.
Pertinax SurlyHow!
FaceTo 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
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