graces pass the hours? I see
You are lodged here, in the house of a rare man,
An excellent artist; but what's that to you?

DOL. Yes, sir; I study here the mathematics,
And distillation.

MAM. O, I cry your pardon.
He's a divine instructor! can extract
The souls of all things by his art; call all
The virtues, and the miracles of the sun,
Into a temperate furnace; teach dull nature
What her own forces are. A man, the emperor
Has courted above Kelly; sent his medals
And chains, to invite him.

DOL. Ay, and for his physic, sir--

MAM. Above the art of Aesculapius,
That drew the envy of the thunderer!
I know all this, and more.

DOL. Troth, I am taken, sir,
Whole with these studies, that contemplate nature.

MAM. It is a noble humour; but this form
Was not intended to so dark a use.
Had you been crooked, foul, of some coarse mould
A cloister had done well; but such a feature
That might stand up the glory of a kingdom,
To live recluse! is a mere soloecism,
Though in a nunnery. It must not be.
I muse, my lord your brother will permit it:
You should spend half my land first, were I he.
Does not this diamond better on my finger,
Than in the quarry?

DOL. Yes.

MAM. Why, you are like it.
You were created, lady, for the light.
Here, you shall wear it; take it, the first pledge
Of what I speak, to bind you to believe me.

DOL. In chains of adamant?

MAM. Yes, the strongest bands.
And take a secret too--here, by your side,
Doth stand this hour, the happiest man in Europe.

DOL. You are contended, sir!

MAM. Nay, in true being,
The envy of princes and the fear of states.

DOL. Say you so, sir Epicure?

MAM. Yes, and thou shalt prove it,
Daughter of honour. I have cast mine eye
Upon thy form, and I will rear this beauty
Above all styles.

DOL. You mean no treason, sir?

MAM. No, I will take away that jealousy.
I am the lord of the philosopher's stone,
And thou the lady.

DOL. How, sir! have you that?

MAM. I am the master of the mystery.
This day the good old wretch here o' the house
Has made it for us: now he's at projection.
Think therefore thy first wish now, let me hear it;
And it shall rain into thy lap, no shower,
But floods of gold, whole cataracts, a deluge,
To get a nation on thee.

DOL. You are pleased, sir,
To work on the ambition of our sex.

MAM. I am please