A Dialogue Between Nature and the Alchemist
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Mercury hearing this begins to lament over the Alchymist, and goes unto his mother Nature: accuseth the ungratefull operator.
Nature beleeves her son Mercury, who tells true, and being moved with anger comes to the Alchymist, and calls him;
Ho thou, Where art thou?
Who is that, thus calls me?
What did you do with my son, you fool? Why do you injure him? Why do you torment him? who is willing to doe you any good, if you couldst understand so much.
What devill reprehends me, so great a man, and Philosopher?
O fool ful of pride, the dung of Philosophers, I know all Philosophers, and wise men, and I love them, for they love me, and doe all things for me at my pleasure, and whither I cannot goe they help me. But you Alchymists, of whose order you also art one, without my knowledg, and consent, doe all things contrary unto me; wherefore it falls out contrary to your expectation. You think that you deal with my sons rationally, but you perfect nothing; and if you will consider rightly, you do not handle them, but they handle you: For you can make nothing of them, neither know you how to do it, but they of you when they please, make fooles.
It is not true. I also am a Philosopher, and know well how to work. I have been with more then one Prince, and was esteemed a Philosopher amongst them, my wife also knows the same, and now also I have a manuscript, which was hid some hundreds of years in an old wall, now I certainly know I shall make the Philosophers Stone, as also within these few dayes it was revealed to me in a dreame. O I am wont to have true dreams; Wife you knowest it!
You shall doe as the rest of thy fellowes have done, who in the beginning know all things, and thinke they are very knowing, but in conclusion know nothing.
Yet others have made it of you (if you art the true Nature.)
It is true, but only they that knew me, and they are very few. But he which knowes me doth not torment my Sons; nor disturbe me, but doth to me what he pleaseth, and increaseth my goods, and heals the bodies of my sons.
Even so do I.
You do all things contrary to me, and dost proceed with my Sonnes contrary to my will: when you shouldst revive, you killest; when fix, you sublimest; when calcine, you distillest; especially my most observant Sonne Mercury, whom you tormentest with so many corrosive waters, and so many poisonous things.
Then I will proceed with him sweetly by digestion only.
It is well if you knowest how to doe it, but if not, you shalt not hurt him, but thy self, and expose thy self to charges, for it is all one with him, as with a gem, which is mixed with dung, that is always good, and the dung doth not diminish it, although it be cast upon it, for when it is washed, it is the same gemme as it was before.
But I would willingly know how to make the Philosophers Stone.
Therefore doe not handle my Son in that fashion: for know, that I have many Sonnes, and many Daughters, and I am ready at hand to them that seek me, if they bee worthy of me.
Tell me therefore who that Mercury is?
Know that I have but one such Sonne. He is the first, and one of seven. He is all things, who was but one. He is nothing, and his number is entire. In him are the 4 Elements, and yet himself is no Element. He is a spirit, and yet has a body. He is a man, and yet acts the part of a woman. He is a child, and yet bears the armes of a man. He is a beast, and yet hath the wings of a bird. He is poison, yet cureth the leprosie. He is life, yet kills all things. He is a King, yet another possesseth his Kingdome. He flies from the fire, yet fire is made of him; he is water, yet wets not; he is earth, yet he is sowed; he is aire, yet lives in water.
I see that I know nothing, but I dare not say so, for then I should lose my reputation, and my neighbors will lay out no more money upon me, if they should know that I know nothing: yet I will say that I doe certainly know, or else no body will give me so much as bread: for many of them hope for much good from me.
Although you shouldst put them off a great while, yet what will become of you at last? and especially if thy neighbours should demand their charges of you again?
I will feed all of them with hope, as much as possibly I can. Natur. And then what wilt you doe at last?
I will try many ways privately: if either of them succeed, I will pay them; if not, I will goe into some other far Country, and doe the like there.
What will become of you afterward?
Ha, ha, ha, there bee many countryes, also many covetous men, to whom I will promise great store of Gold, and that in a short time, and so the time shall passe away, till at last either I, or they must die Kings, or Asses.
Such Philosophers deserve the halter: fie upon you, make hast and be hanged, and put an end to thy self, and thy Philosophy; for by this meanes you shalt neither deceive me, thy neighbour, or thy self.