_Scar_. Now, Sir, be pleas'd to observe the three Regions: if they be
bright, without doubt _Mars_ is powerful; if the middle Region or Camera
be palled, _Filia Solis_ is breeding.

_Doct_. Hum.

_Scar_. And then the third Region, if the Faeces be volatile, the Birth
will soon come _in Balneo_. This I observed also in the Laboratory of
that ingenious Chymist _Lysidono_, and with much Pleasure animadverted
that Mineral of the same Zenith and Nadir, of that now so famous Water
in _England_, near that famous Metropolis, call'd _Islington_.

_Doct_. Seignior--

_Scar_. For, Sir, upon the Infusion, the Crows Head immediately procures
the Seal of _Hermes_; and had not _Lac Virginis_ been too soon suck'd
up, I believe we might have seen the Consummation of _Amalgama_.

[Bellemante _having got her Letters, goes off. She makes Signs
to him to stay a little. He nods_.

_Doct_. Most likely, Sir.

_Scar_. But, Sir, this _Garamanteen_ relates the strangest Operation of
a Mineral in the Lunar World, that ever I heard of.

_Doct_. As how, I pray, Sir?

_Scar_. Why, Sir, a Water impregnated to a Circulation with _prima
Materia_; upon my Honour, Sir, the strongest I ever drank of.

_Doct_. How, Sir! did you drink of it?

_Scar_. I only speak the words of _Garamanteen_, Sir.
--Pox on him, I shall be trapt. [_Aside_.

_Doct_. Cry Mercy, Sir.-- [_Bows_.

_Scar_. The Lunary Physicians, Sir, call it _Urinam Vulcani_, it
calybeates every ones Excrements more or less according to the Gradus
of the natural Calor.--To my Knowledge, Sir, a Smith of a very fiery
Constitution is grown very opulent by drinking these Waters.

_Doct_. How, Sir, grown rich by drinking the Waters, and to your
Knowledge?

_Scar_. The Devil's in my Tongue. To my Knowledge, Sir; for what a Man
of Honour relates, I may safely affirm.

_Doct_. Excuse me, Seignior--
[_Puts off his Hat again gravely_.

_Scar_. For, Sir, conceive me how he grew rich! since he drank those
Waters he never buys any Iron, but hammers it out of _Stercus Proprius_.

_Enter_ Bellemante _with a Billet_.

_Bell_. Sir, 'tis three a Clock, and Dinner will be cold.

[_Goes behind_ Scaramouch, _and gives him the Note and goes out_.

_Doct_. I come, Sweet-heart; but this is wonderful.

_Scar_. Ay, Sir, and if at any time Nature be too infirm, and he prove
Costive, he has no more to do, but apply a Load-stone _ad Anum_.

_Doct_. Is'