C[la]. Yes, yes, go send for Leon, and convey him
Into the private Arbour, from his mouth
I hear your praises with more faith.
Ma. I am gone; yet one thing e're I go, there's at the door
The rarest Fortune-teller, he hath told me
The strangest things; he knows ye are my Mistris,
And under seal deliver'd how many Children
I shall beget on you, pray you give him hearing,
He'l make it good to you.
Cla. A cunning man
Of your own making, howsoe'r I'le hear him
At your intreaty.
Mal. Now I perceive ye love me,
At my entreaty, come in friend—remember
To speak as I directed, he knows his lesson,
And the right way to please her; this it is
To have a head-piece. [Exit.
Enter Lancelot, like a Fortune-teller, with a Purse, and two Letters in it.
Cla. 'Tis said you can tell fortunes to come.
Lan. Yes Mistris and what's past;
Unglove your hand, by this straight line I see
You have lain crooked.
Cla. How? lain crooked?
Lan. Yes; and in that posture plaid at the old game,
(No body hears me, and I'le be no blab)
And at it lost your maiden-head.
Cla. A shrewd fellow;
'Tis truth, but not to be confess'd; in this
Your palmistry deceives you, something else Sir.