ou are incredulous.

SUR. Faith I have a humour,
I would not willingly be gull'd. Your stone
Cannot transmute me.

MAM. Pertinax, [my] Surly,
Will you believe antiquity? records?
I'll shew you a book where Moses and his sister,
And Solomon have written of the art;
Ay, and a treatise penn'd by Adam--

SUR. How!

MAM. Of the philosopher's stone, and in High Dutch.

SUR. Did Adam write, sir, in High Dutch?

MAM. He did;
Which proves it was the primitive tongue.

SUR. What paper?

MAM. On cedar board.

SUR. O that, indeed, they say,
Will last 'gainst worms.

MAM. 'Tis like your Irish wood,
'Gainst cob-webs. I have a piece of Jason's fleece, too,
Which was no other than a book of alchemy,
Writ in large sheep-skin, a good fat ram-vellum.
Such was Pythagoras' thigh, Pandora's tub,
And, all that fable of Medea's charms,
The manner of our work; the bulls, our furnace,
Still breathing fire; our argent-vive, the dragon:
The dragon's teeth, mercury sublimate,
That keeps the whiteness, hardness, and the biting;
And they are gathered into Jason's helm,
The alembic, and then sow'd in Mars his field,
And thence sublimed so often, till they're fixed.
Both this, the Hesperian garden, Cadmus' story,
Jove's shower, the boon of Midas, Argus' eyes,
Boccace his Demogorgon, thousands more,
All abstract riddles of our stone.
[ENTER FACE, AS A SERVANT.]
--How now!
Do we succeed? Is our day come? and holds it?

FACE. The evening will set red upon you, sir;
You have colour for it, crimson: the red ferment
Has done his office; three hours hence prepare you
To see projection.

MAM. Pertinax, my Surly.
Again I say to thee, aloud, Be rich.
This day, thou shalt have ingots; and to-morrow,
Give lords th' affront.--Is it, my Zephyrus, right?
Blushes the bolt's-head?

FACE. Like a wench with child, sir,
That were but now discover'd to her master.

MAM. Excellent witty Lungs!--my only care
Where to get stuff enough now, to project on;
This town will not half serve me.

FACE. No, sir! buy
The covering off o' churches.

MAM. That's true.

FACE. Yes.
Let them stand bare, as do their auditory;
Or cap them, new, with shingles.

MAM. No, good thatch:
Thatch will lie light upon the rafters, Lungs.--
Lungs, I will manumit thee from the furnace;
I will restore thee thy complexion, Puffe,
Lost in the e