[Exit Frailty.]
FRANCES. Sure, that man is a rare fortune-teller; never looked upon our hands, nor upon any mark about us: a wondrous fellow, surely.
MOLL. I am glad, I have the use of my tongue yet: tho of nothing else. I shall find the way to marry too, I hope, shortly.
WIDDOW.
O where’s my Brother, Sir Godfrey? I would he were here,
that I might relate to him how prophetically the cunning
Gentleman spoke in all things.
[Enter Sir Godfrey in a rage.]
SIR GODFREY.
O my Chain, my Chain! I have lost my Chain. Where be these
Villains, Varlets?
WIDDOW.
Oh! has lost his Chain.
SIR GODFREY.
My Chain, my chain!
WIDDOW. Brother, be patient, hear me speak: you know I told you that a cunning man told me that you should have a loss, and he has prophecied so true.
SIR GODFREY. Out, he’s a villain, to prophecy of the loss of my chain: twas worth above three hundred Crowns,—besides, twas my Fathers, my fathers fathers, my Grand-fathers huge grant- fathers. I had as lieve ha lost my Neck, as the chain that hung about it. O, my chain, my chain!