O, make your approach, good captain. I have found from whence your copper rings and spoons Come, now, wherewith you cheat abroad in taverns. 'Twas here you learned t' anoint your boot with brimstone, Then rub men's gold on't for a kind of touch, And say 'twas naught, when you had changed the colour, That you might have't for nothing. And this doctor, Your sooty, smoky-bearded compeer, he Will close you so much gold, in a bolt's-head, And, on a turn, convey in the stead another With sublimed mercury, that shall burst in the heat, And fly out all in fumo! Then weeps Mammon; Then swoons his worship. Or, he is the Faustus, That casteth figures and can conjure, cures Plagues, piles, and pox, by the ephemerides, And holds intelligence with all the bawds And midwives of three shires: while you send in-- Captain!--what! is he gone?--damsels with child, Wives that are barren, or the waiting-maid With the green sickness. --Nay, sir, you must tarry, Though he be scaped; and answer by the ears, sir.

Sur Monologue from The Alchemist

Rehearse Sur's monologue