SCENE V.

ALBUMAZAR, RONCA, PANDOLFO, CRICCA.

ALB. Ronca, the bunch of planets new found out, Hanging at the end of my best perspicil, Send them to Galileo at Padua:[256] Let him bestow them where he please. But the stars, Lately discover'd 'twixt the horns of Aries, Are as a present for Pandolfo's marriage, And hence styl'd Sidera Pandolfaea.

PAN. My marriage, Cricca! he foresees my marriage: O most celestial Albumazar!

CRI. And sends y' a present from the head of Aries.[257]

ALB. My almanac, made for the meridian And height of Japan, give't th' East India Company; There may they smell the price of cloves and pepper, Monkeys and china dishes, five years ensuing. And know the success of the voyage of Magores;[258] For, in the volume of the firmament, We children of the stars read things to come, As clearly as poor mortals stories pass'd In Speed or Holinshed. The perpetual motion[259] With a true 'larum in't, to run twelve hours 'Fore Mahomet's return,[260] deliver it safe To a Turkey factor: bid him with care present it From me to the house of Ottoman.

RON. I will, sir.

CRI. Pray you, stand here, and wonder now for me; Be astonish'd at his jargon,[261] for I cannot. I'll pawn[262] my life he proves a mere impostor. [_Aside._

PAN. Peace, not a word, be silent and admire.

ALB. As for the issue of the next summer's wars. Reveal't to none, keep it to thyself in secret, As touchstone of my skill in prophecy. Begone.

RON. I go, sir. [_Exit._

ALB. Signior Pandolfo, I pray you, pardon me, Exotical despatches of great consequence Stay'd me; and casting the nativity O' th' Cham of Tartary, and a private conference With a mercurial intelligence. Y' are welcome in a good hour, better minute, Best second, happiest third, fourth, fifth, and scruple. Let the twelve houses of the horoscope Be lodg'd with fortitudes and fortunates,[263] To make you bless'd in your designs, Pandolfo.

PAN. Were't not much trouble to your starry employments, I, a poor mortal, would entreat your furtherance In a terrestrial business.

ALB. My ephemeris[264] lies, Or I foresee your errand. Thus, 'tis thus. You had a neighbour call'd Antonio, A widower like yourself, whose only daughter, Flavia, you love, and he as much admir'd Your child Sulpitia. Is not this right?

PAN. Yes, sir: O strange! Cricca, admire in silence.

ALB. You two decreed a countermatch betwixt you, And purposed to truck daughters. Is't not so?

PAN. Just as you say't. Cricca, admire and wonder.

CRI. This is no such secret: look to yourself; he'll cheat you. [_Aside._]

ALB. Antonio, after this match concluded, Having great sums of gold in Barbary, Desires of you, before he consummate The rites of matrimony, he might go thither For three months; but as now 'tis three and three, Since he embark'd, and is not yet return'd; Now, sir, your business is to me to know Whether Antonio be dead or living. I'll tell you instantly.

PAN. Hast thou reveal'd it? I told it none but thee.

CRI. Not I.

PAN. Why stare you? Are you not well?

ALB. I wander 'twixt the poles And heavenly hinges, 'mongst excentricals, Centres, concentrics, circles, and epicycles, To hunt out an aspect fit for your business.

CRI. Mean ostentation! For shame, awake yourself. [_Aside._

ALB. And, since the lamp of heaven is newly enter'd To Cancer, old Antonio is stark dead, Drown'd in the sea, stone dead; for _radius directorius_ In the sixth house, and the waning moon by Capricorn; He's dead, he's dead.

CRI. 'Tis an ill time to marry. The moon grows fork'd, and walks with Capricorn.

PAN. Peace, fool! these words are full of mysteries.

ALB. What ominous face and dismal countenance, Mark'd for disasters, hated of all the heavens, Is this that follows you?

PAN. He is my servant; A plain and honest speaker, but no harm in him.

CRI. What see you in my face?

ALB. Horror and darkness, death and gallowses: I'd swear thou'rt hang'd, stood'st thou but two foot higher; But now thy stars threaten a nearer death. Sir, send to toll his knell.

PAN. What, is he dead?

ALB. He shall be by the dint of many stabs; Only I spy a little hope of 'scaping Thorough the clouds and foul aspects of death.

CRI. Sir, pray give no credit to this cheater; Or with his words of art he'll make you doat As much on his feign'd skill, as on fair Flavia.