 | Albvmazar |  |
SCENE 8.
Pandolfo. Cricca.Pan.
Here's a strange man indeed, of skil profound?
How right he knew my busines, 'fore he saw me?
Tis a brave instrument his Otacousticon.
Cric.
In earnest sir, I tooke him for a cheater:
As many, under name of cunning men,
With promise of Astrology, much abuse
The gaping vulgar, wronging that sacred skill,
That in the starres reads all our actions.
Pan.
Is there no Archers o're our heads? look Cricca.
Cric.
None but the Arch of heaven, that cannot fall.
Pan.
Is not that made of Marble? I have read
A stone dropt from the Moone; and much I feare
The fit should take her now, and voyd another.
Cric.
Feare nothing sir, this charmed Mercuriall cup
Shields from the fall of mountaines: 'tis not a stone
Can checke his Art, walke boldly.
Pan.
I doe, let's in.
| Albvmazar | |