The Stone

The search for the Stone.

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Our Great Elixir most high of price, Our Azot, our Basiliske, and our Adrop, our Cockatrice. Some call it also a substance exuberate, Some call it Mercury or metalline essence, Some limus deserti from his body evacuate, Some the Eagle flying fro' the North with violence, Some call it a Toade for his great vehemence, But few or none at all doe name it in its kinde, It is a privy quintessence; Keep it well in minde. (Bloomfield, Camp of Philosophy).

Upon the smoke of the dragon's breath stand the twelve grey men, old men, wise men and immortal men. Still by day, they dance at night, the dance of death, round and round they go chanting the song of Mourning. Round and round they go, until the light of the Risen stops them still where they began. Thus it is, as before and since. Amidst the gate about which they spin, upon the crest of the Cockatrice.

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