The Alchemist E-Book

Ben Jonson

• Herausgeber: Qasim Idrees
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Samuel Taylor Coleridge said of Ben Jonson's The Alchemist that it had one out of the three most perfect plots in literature. This play, with its sharp portrayal of human folly, is considered by many to be Jonson's best comedy. First performed 1610, its popularity has endured to this day.

Leseprobe

The Alchemist

Ben Jonson

.

ACT 1. SCENE 1.1.

A ROOM IN LOVEWIT'S HOUSE.

ENTER FACE, IN A CAPTAIN'S UNIFORM, WITH HIS SWORD DRAWN, AND SUBTLE WITH A VIAL, QUARRELLING, AND FOLLOWED BY DOL COMMON.

FACE. Believe 't, I will.

SUB. Thy worst. I fart at thee.

DOL. Have you your wits? why, gentlemen! for love --

FACE. Sirrah, I'll strip you --

SUB. What to do? lick figs Out at my --

FACE. Rogue, rogue! -- out of all your sleights.

DOL. Nay, look ye, sovereign, general, are you madmen?

SUB. O, let the wild sheep loose. I'll gum your silks With good strong water, an you come.

DOL. Will you have The neighbours hear you? will you betray all? Hark! I hear somebody.

FACE. Sirrah --

SUB. I shall mar All that the tailor has made, if you approach.

FACE. You most notorious whelp, you insolent slave, Dare you do this?

SUB. Yes, faith; yes, faith.

FACE. Why, who Am I, my mungrel? who am I?

SUB. I'll tell you., Since you know not yourself.

FACE. Speak lower, rogue.

SUB. Yes, you were once (time's not long past) the good, Honest, plain, livery-three-pound-thrum, that kept Your master's worship's house here in the Friars, For the vacations --

FACE. Will you be so loud?

SUB. Since, by my means, translated suburb-captain.

FACE. By your means, doctor dog!

SUB. Within man's memory, All this I speak of.

FACE. Why, I pray you, have I Been countenanced by you, or you by me? Do but collect, sir, where I met you first.

SUB. I do not hear well.

FACE. Not of this, I think it. But I shall put you in mind, sir; -- at Pie-corner, Taking your meal of steam in, from cooks' stalls, Where, like the father of hunger, you did walk Piteously costive, with your pinch'd-horn-nose, And your complexion of the Roman wash, Stuck full of black and melancholic worms, Like powder corns shot at the artillery-yard.

SUB. I wish you could advance your voice a little.

FACE. When you went pinn'd up in the several rags You had raked and pick'd from dunghills, before day; Your feet in mouldy slippers, for your kibes; A felt of rug, and a thin threaden cloke, That scarce would cover your no buttocks --

SUB. So, sir!

FACE. When all your alchemy, and your algebra, Your minerals, vegetals, and animals, Your conjuring, cozening, and your dozen of trades, Could not relieve your corps with so much linen 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 --