_Hec._ Then I’ve fitted you. Here lie the gifts of both; sudden and subtle; His picture made in wax, and gently molten By a blue fire, kindled with dead men’s eyes, Will waste him by degrees. _Duch._ In what time, pr’ythee? _Hec._ Perhaps in a month’s progress. _Duch._ What? A month? Out upon pictures! If they be so tedious, Give me things with some life. _Hec._ Then seek no farther. _Duch._ This must be done with speed, dispatched this night, If it may possibly. _Hec._ I have it for you: Here’s that will do ‘t. Stay but perfection’s time, And that’s not five hours hence. _Duch._ Can’st thou do this? _Hec._ Can I? _Duch._ I mean, so closely. _Hec._ So closely do you mean too? _Duch._ So artfully, so cunningly. _Hec._ Worse and worse; doubts and incredulities, They make me mad. Let scrupulous creatures know, _Cum volui, ripis ipsis mirantibus, amnes In fontes rediere suos: concussaque sisto, Stantia concutio cantu freta; nubila pello, Nubilaque induco: ventos abigoque vocoque. Vipereas rumpo verbis et carmine fauces; Et silvas moveo, jubeoque tremiscere montes, Et mugire solum, manesque exire sepulchres. Te quoque luna traho._ Can you doubt me then, daughter? That can make mountains tremble, miles of woods walk; Whole earth’s foundations bellow, and the spirits Of the entomb’d to burst out from their marbles; Nay, draw yon moon to my involv’d designs? _Fire._ I know as well as can be when my mother’s mad, and our great cat angry; for one spits French then, and th’ other spits Latin. _Duch._ I did not doubt you, mother. _Hec._ No? what did you? My power’s so firm, it is not to be question’d. _Duch._ Forgive what’s past: and now I know th’ offensiveness That vexes art, I’ll shun th’ occasion ever. _Hec._ Leave all to me and my five sisters, daughter. It shall be conveyed in at howlet-time. Take you no care. My spirits know their moments; Raven or scritch-owl never fly by th’ door, But they call in (I thank ’em), and they lose not by ‘t. I give ’em barley soak’d in infants’ blood: They shall have _semina cum sanguine_, Their gorge cramm’d full, if they come once to our house: We are no niggard. [_Exit_ Duchess. _Fire._ They fare but too well when they come hither. They ate up as much t’ other night as would have made me a good conscionable pudding. _Hec._ Give me some lizard’s brain: quickly, Firestone! Where’s grannam Stadlin, and all the rest o’ th’ sisters? _Fire._ All at hand, forsooth. _Hec._ Give me marmaritin; some bear-breech. When? _Fire._ Here’s bear-breech and lizard’s brain, forsooth. _Hec._ Into the vessel; And fetch three ounces of the red-hair’d girl I kill’d last midnight. _Fire._ Whereabouts, sweet mother?