And have your punks and punketees, my Surly,
And unto thee, I speak it first, Be rich.
Where is my Subtle, there? Within, ho!
Face. [within] Sir, he’ll come to you, by and by.
Mam. That is his Firedrake,
His Lungs, his Zephyrus, he that puffs his coals,
Till he firk nature up in her own centre.
You are not faithful, Sir. This night I’ll change
All that is metal in my house to gold:
And early in the morning, will I send