When ’twas not beech; weigh’d those I put in, just
To keep your heat still even. These blear’d eyes
Have wak’d to read your several colors, sir,
Of the pale citron, the green lion, the crow,
The peacock’s tail, the plumed swan.
Mammon: And lastly,
Thou hast descried the flower, the sanguis agni?
Face: Yes, sir.
Mammon: Where’s master?
Face: At’s prayers, sir, he;