[RE-ENTER FACE.]
SUB. How now!
FACE. Sir, please you,
Shall I not change the filter?
SUB. Marry, yes;
And bring me the complexion of glass B.
[EXIT FACE.]
MAM. Have you another?
SUB. Yes, son; were I assured --
Your piety were firm, we would not want
The means to glorify it: but I hope the best. --
I mean to tinct C in sand-heat to-morrow,
And give him imbibition.
MAM. Of white oil?
SUB. No, sir, of red. F is come over the helm too,
I thank my Maker, in S. Mary's bath,
And shews lac virginis. Blessed be heaven!
I sent you of his faeces there calcined:
Out of that calx, I have won the salt of mercury.
MAM. By pouring on your rectified water?
SUB. Yes, and reverberating in Athanor.
[RE-ENTER FACE.]
How now! what colour says it?
FACE. The ground black, sir.
MAM. That's your crow's head?
SUR. Your cock's-comb's, is it not?
SUB. No, 'tis not perfect. Would it were the crow!
That work wants something.
SUR [ASIDE]. O, I looked for this.
The hay's a pitching.
SUB. Are you sure you loosed them
In their own menstrue?
FACE. Yes, sir, and then married them,
And put them in a bolt's-head nipp'd to digestion,
According as you bade me, when I set
The liquor of Mars to circulation
In the same heat.
SUB. The process then was right.
FACE. Yes, by the token, sir, the retort brake,
And what was saved was put into the pellican,
And sign'd with Hermes' seal.
SUB. I think 'twas so.
We should have a new amalgama.
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