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 embers; and repair this brain,
Hurt with the fume o' the metals.
FACE. I have blown, sir,
Hard for your worship; thrown by many a coal,
When 'twas not beech; weigh'd those I put in, just,
To keep your heat still even; these blear'd eyes
Have wak'd to read your several colours, sir,
Of the pale citron, the green lion, the crow,
The peacock's tail, the plumed swan.
MAM. And, lastly,
Thou hast descry'd the flower, the sanguis agni?
FACE. Yes, sir.
MAM. Where's master?
FACE. At his prayers, sir, he;
Good man, he's doing his devotions
For the success.
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