But with a little act upon the blood,
Burn like the mines of sulphur.’
We here find him watching the success of his experiment, with the sanguine anticipation of an alchemist at the moment of projection.
‘I did say so:
Look where he comes’—[Enter Othello]—‘Not poppy nor mandragora,
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou ow’dst yesterday.’
Again he says:—
‘Work on: