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Cat. And was familiar
Cet. Sons kill'd fathers,
Cat. And had price and praise : All hate had licence giv'n it; all rage reins. Cet. Slaughter bestrid the streets, and stretch'd
himself To seem more huge : whilst to his stained thighs The gore he drew flow'd up, and carried down Whole heaps of limbs and bodies through his arch. No age was spared, no sex.
10 Cat. Nay, no degree.
Cet. Not infants in the porch of life were free.
Cat. 'Twas crime enough that they had lives.
20 Cet. The rugged Charon fainted, And ask'd a navy rather than a boat, To ferry over the sad world that came : The maws and dens of beasts could not receive The bodies that those souls were frighted from ; And even the graves were fill’d with men yet living, Whose flight and fear had mix'd them with the dead.
Cat. And this shall be again, and more, and more, Now Lentulus, the third Cornelius, Is to stand up in Rome.
30 Lent. Nay, urge not that Is so uncertain.
Cat. How !
Lent. I mean, not clear'd ;
Cat. The Sybil's leaves uncertain ! or the comments Of our grave, deep, divining men, not clear !
Lent. All prophecies, you know, suffer the torture.
Cat. But this already hath confess’d, without ; And so been weigh'd, examin'd, and compar'd, 40 As 'twere malicious ignorance in him Would faint in the belief.
Lent. Do you believe it?
Lent. Men mark me more of late as I come forth ! Cat. Why, what can they do less ? Cinna and
Sylla Aro set and gone ; and we must turn our eyes 10 On him that is, and shines. Noble Cethegus, But view him with me here! He looks already As if he shook a sceptre o'er the senate, And the awed purple dropped their rods and axes. The statues melt again, and household gods In groans confess the travails of the city ; The very walls sweat blood before the change ; And stones start out to ruin, ere it comes.
Cet. But he, and we, and all, are idle still. 19
Cat. I am a shadow
BY THE SAME. EPICURE MAMMON, a Knight, deceived by the pretensions
of Subtle (thé Alchemist), glories in the prospect of obtaining the Philosopher's Sione ; and promises what
rare things he will do with it. MAMMON. SURLY, his Friend. The Scene, SUBTLE'S
House. Mam. Come on, sir. Now you set your foot on
shore In novo orbe. Here's the rich Peru :
And there within, sir, are the golden mines,
19 No more of this. You shall start up young Viceroys, And have your punques and punquetees, my Surly : And unto thee I speak it first, Be rich. Where is my Subtle there ? within ho
Face answers from within.
Mam. That's his fire-drake,
Sur. What, and turn that too ?
Sur. No, faith.
Of which one part projected on a hundred
Sur. Yes, when I see 't, I will.
Mam. Ha ! why!
Sur. No doubt; he's that already.
Mam. Nay, I mean, Restore his years, renew him like an eagle, To the fifth age ; make him get sons and daughters, Young giants, as our philosophers have done 20 (The ancient patriarchs afore the flood,) But taking, once a week, on a knife's point The quantity of a grain of mustard of it, Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids.
Sur. The decay'd vestals of Pickt-hatch would That keep the fire alive there.
Mam. "Tis the secret Of Nature naturized 'gainst all infections, Cures all diseases, coming of all causes ; A month's grief in a day; a year's in twelve ; 30 And of what age soever, in a month : Past all the doses of your drugging doctors. I'll undertake withal to fright the plague Out o' the kingdom in three months.
Sur. And I'll Be bound, the players shall sing your praises, then, Without their poets.
Mam. Sir, I'll do't. Meantime, I'll give away so much unto my man, Shall serve th' whole city with preservative 40 Weekly ; each house his dose, and at the rate
Sur. As he that built the water-work, does with
Sur. Faith, I have a humour,
Mam. Pertinax, my Surly,
believe antiquity ? Records ! I'll show you a book, where Moses, and his sister, And Solomon, have written of the Art ? Ay, and a treatise penn'd by Adam.
10 Sur. How? Mam. Of the Philosopher's Stone, and in High
Mam. He did,
Sur. What paper ?
Sur. O that, indeed, they say,
30 (Th'Alembic) and then sow'd in Mars his field, And thence sublim'd so often, till they are fix'd. 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.
Face. The evening will set red upon you, sir ;