Would make you tinder, but to see a fire;
I gave you countenance, credit for your coals,
Your stills, your glasses, your materials;
Built you a furnace, drew you customers,
Advanced all your black arts; lent you, beside,
A house to practise in-

Sub. Yes, in your master's house,

You and the rats here kept possession.

Make it not strange. I know you were one could keep
The buttery-hatch still lock'd, and save the chippings,
Sell the dole beer to aqua vitæ men,

The which, together with your Christmas vails
At post-and-pair, your letting out of counters,
Made you a pretty stock, some twenty marks,
And gave you credit to converse with cobwebs,
Here, since your mistress' death hath broke
Face. You might talk softlier, rascal.
Sub. No, you scarab,

I'll thunder you in pieces: I will teach you
How to beware to tempt a Fury again,
That carries tempest in his hand and voice.
Face. The place has made you valiant.
Sub. No, your clothes--

Thou vermin, have I ta'en thee out of dung,

So poor, so wretched, when no living thing



Would keep thee company, but a spider, or worse?
Rais'd thee from brooms, and dust, and watering-pots,
Sublimed thee, and exalted thee, and fix'd thee
In the third region, call'd our state of grace?
Wrought thee to spirit, to quintessence, with pains
Would twice have won me the philosopher's work?
Put thee in words and fashion, made thee fit
For more than ordinary fellowships?
Giv'n thee thy oaths, thy quarrelling dimensions,
Thy rules to cheat at horse-race, cock-pit, cards,
Dice, or whatever gallant tincture else?
Made thee a second in mine own great art?

And have I this for thanks! Do you rebel,

Do you fly out in the projection?

[Bell rings without.

Who's that? one rings. To the window,

Dol.-[Exit Dol.]-Pray Heaven,

The master do not trouble us this quarter.

Face. O fear not him. While there dies one a week
O' the plague, he 's safe from thinking toward London:
Beside, he 's busy at his hop-yards now;

I had a letter from him. If he do,


He'll send such word, for airing of the house,
shall have sufficient time to quit it:
Though we break up a fortnight, 'tis no matter.



A principal figure in the Alchemist' is Abel Drugger, a tobaccodealer, who wants to learn a quick way to be rich :—

Sub. What is your name, say you, Abel Drugger?

Drug. Yes, Sir.

Sub. A seller of tobacco?

Drug. Yes, Sir.

Sub. Umph!

Free of the grocers?

Drug. Ay, an't please you.

Sub. Well

Your business, Abel?

Drug. This, an't please your worship;
I am a young beginner, and am building
Of a new shop, and, like your worship, just
At corner of a street :—Here's the plot on't-
And I would know by art, Sir, of your worship,
Which I should make my door, by necromancy,


And where my shelves; and which should be for boxes,
And which for pots. I would be glad to thrive, Sir:
And I was wish'd to your worship by a gentleman,
One Captain Face, that says you know men's planets,
And their good angels, and their bad.

Sub. I do,

If I do see them.

Re-enter FACE.

Face. What! My honest Abel?

Thou art well met here.

Drug. Troth, Sir, I was speaking,

Just as your worship came here, of your worship:
I pray you speak for me to master doctor.

Face. He shall do any thing. Doctor, do you
This is my friend, Abel, an honest fellow;
He lets me have good tobacco, and he does not
Sophisticate it with sack-lees or oil,


Nor washes it in muscadel and grains.
Nor buries it in gravel under ground,
But keeps it in fine lily-pots, that, open'd,
Smell like conserve of roses or French beans.
He has his maple block, his silver tongs,
Winchester pipes, and fire of juniper:
A neat, spruce, honest fellow, and no goldsmith.
Sub. He is a fortunate fellow, that I am sure on.
Face. Already Sir, have you found it? Lo thee, Abel!

Sub. And in right way toward riches

Face. Sir!

Sub. This summer

He will be of the clothing of his company,

And next spring call'd to the scarlet; spend what hẹ can. Face. What! and so little beard?

Sub. Sir, you must think,

He may have a receipt to make hair come :

But he 'll be wise, preserve his youth, and fine for 't;

His fortune looks for him another way.

Face. 'Slid, Doctor, how canst thou know this so soon? I am amused at that!

Sub. By a rule, Captain,

In metoposcopy, which I do work by;

A certain star in the forehead, which you see not.

Your chestnut or your olive-colour'd face

Does never fail and your long ear doth promise.

I knew 't, by certain spots, too, in his teeth,

And on the nail of his mercurial finger,

Face. Which finger's that?

Sub. His little finger. Look.

You were born upon a Wednesday?
Drug. Yes, indeed, Sir.

Sub. The thumb, in chiromancy, we give Venus;
The fore-finger to Jove; the midst, to Saturn;
The ring to Sol; the least, to Mercury,

Who was the lord, Sir, of his horoscope,

His house of life being Libra; which foreshew'd,

He should be a merchant, and should trade with balance.
Face. Why, this is strange! Is it not, honest Nab?
Sub. There is a ship now, coming from Ormus,

That shall yield him such a commodity

Of drugs-This is the west, this the south?

Drug. Yes, Sir.

Sub. And those are your two sides?

Drug. Ay, Sir.

[Pointing to the plan.

Sub. Make me your door, then, south; your broadside west; And on the east side of your shop, aloft,

Write Mathlai, Tarmiel, and Baraborat;
Upon the north part, Rael, Velel, Thiel.

They are the names of those mercurial spirits

That do fright flies from boxes.

Drug. Yes, Sir.

Sub. And

Beneath your threshold bury me a loadstone

To draw in gallants that wear spurs: the rest
They 'll seem to follow.

Face. That's a secret, Nab!

Why, how now, Abel! Is this true?

Drug. Good Captain,

What must I give?

Face. Nay, I'll not counsel thee.

[Aside to FACE.

Thou hear'st what wealth (he says, spend what thou canst)

Thou 'rt like to come to.

Drug. I would gi' him a crown.

Face. A crown! And toward such a fortune? Heart, Thou shalt rather gi' him thy shop. No gold about thee? Drug. Yes, I have a Portague, I have kept this half-year. Face. Out on thee, Nab! 'Slight, there was such an offer. Shalt keep 't no longer, I 'll giv't him for thee. Doctor, Nab prays your worship to drink this, and swears He will appear more grateful, as your skill

Does raise him in the world.

Drug. I would entreat

Another favour of his worship.

Face. What is 't, Nab?

Drug. But to look over, Sir, my almanack, And cross out my ill days, that I may neither Bargain or trust upon them.

Face. That he shall, Nab:

Leave it, it shall be done, 'gainst afternoon.
Sub. And a direction for his shelves.
Face. Now, Nab,

Art thou well pleased, Nab?

Drug. Thank, Sir, both your worships.
Face. Away.

Why, now, you smoaky persecutor of nature!

Now do you see that something 's to be done,
Beside your beech-coal, and your corsive waters,

Your crosslets, crucibles, and cucurbites?


You must have stuff, brought home to you, to work on:

And yet you think I am at no expense

In searching out these veins, then following them,

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