Foro. Why that's all the familiarity I ever had with the Divell, my guift of lying, they say he's the Father of lyes; and though I cannot conjure, yet I profess my self to be one of his poor gossips. I will now reveale to thee a rare peece of service.
Clow. What is it my most worshipful Doctor Lamb-stones?
Foro. There is a Captain come lately from Sea,
They call Prosper, I saw him this morning
Through a chink of wainscote that divides my lodging,
And the Host of the house, withdraw my Host, and Hostess, the fair Biancha, and an antient gentlewoman into their bedchamber; I could not overhear their conference, but I saw such a mass of gold & Jewels, & when he had done he lock't it up into a casket; great joy there was amongst them, & forth they are gone into the city, and my Host told me at his going forth he thought he should not return till after supper: now Sir, in their absence will we fall to our picklocks, enter the chamber, seize the Jewels, make an escape from Florence, and we are made for ever.
Clow. But if they should go to a true conjurer, and fetch us back in a whirle-wind?
Foro. Do not believe there is any such fetch in Astrology, and this may be a means to make us live honest hereafter.
Clow. 'Tis but an ill road to't that lyes through the high way of theeving.
Foro. For indeed I am weary of this trade of fortune-telling; and mean to give all over, when I come into England, for it is a very ticklish quality.
Clow. And i'th' end will hang by a twine thred.