elite,
King of Thogarma, and his habergions
Brimstony, blue, and fiery; and the force
Of king Abaddon, and the beast of Cittim:
Which rabbi David Kimchi, Onkelos,
And Aben Ezra do interpret Rome."

FACE. How did you put her into't?

MAM. Alas, I talk'd
Of a fifth monarchy I would erect,
With the philosopher's stone, by chance, and she
Falls on the other four straight.

FACE. Out of Broughton!
I told you so. 'Slid, stop her mouth.

MAM. Is't best?

FACE. She'll never leave else. If the old man hear her,
We are but faeces, ashes.

SUB [WITHIN]. What's to do there?

FACE. O, we are lost! Now she hears him, she is quiet.

[ENTER SUBTLE, THEY RUN DIFFERENT WAYS.]

MAM. Where shall I hide me!

SUB. How! what sight is here?
Close deeds of darkness, and that shun the light!
Bring him again. Who is he? What, my son!
O, I have lived too long.

MAM. Nay, good, dear father,
There was no unchaste purpose.

SUB. Not? and flee me
When I come in?

MAM. That was my error.

SUB. Error?
Guilt, guilt, my son: give it the right name. No marvel,
If I found check in our great work within,
When such affairs as these were managing!

MAM. Why, have you so?

SUB. It has stood still this half hour:
And all the rest of our less works gone back.
Where is the instrument of wickedness,
My lewd false drudge?

MAM. Nay, good sir, blame not him;
Believe me, 'twas against his will or knowledge:
I saw her by chance.

SUB. Will you commit more sin,
To excuse a varlet?

MAM. By my hope, 'tis true, sir.

SUB. Nay, then I wonder less, if you, for whom
The blessing was prepared, would so tempt heaven,
And lose your fortunes.

MAM. Why, sir?

SUB. This will retard
The work a month at least.

MAM. Why, if it do,
What remedy? But think it not, good father:
Our purposes were honest.

SUB. As they were,
So the reward will prove.
[A LOUD EXPLOSION WITHIN.]
--How now! ah me!
God, and all saints be good to us.--
[RE-ENTER FACE.]
What's that?

FACE. O, sir, we are defeated! all the works
Are flown in fumo, every glass is burst;
Furnace, and all rent down, as if a bolt
Of thunder had been driven through the house.
Retorts, receivers, pelicans, bolt-heads,
All struck in shivers!
[SUBTLE FALLS DOWN AS IN A SWOON.]
Help, good sir! alas,
Coldness and death invades him. Nay, sir Mammon,