How many men, patient and wise,
Found our white stone with exercise,
After that they were truly taught.
It is a stone, yet no stone,
In which the whole Art consists,
Nature has made it so,
But has not yet brought it to perfection,
Yet you will not find it on earth,
Since there , it has no growth,
It grows only in the caverns of the mountains
and the whole Art depends on it.
For he who has the vapour of this thing
has the gilded splendour of the Red Lyon.
The pure and clear Mercury.
he knows the Red Sulpher which it contains.
He has within his power the whole foundation.
And you may trust me it is no small thing,
To know all the secrets pertaining to this rhyme
For it is most profound philosophy,
This subtill science of Holy Alchemy.
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