SKIRMISH.
A Conjurer?
PYE. Let me alone; I’ll instruct you, and teach you to deceive all eyes, but the Devil’s.
SKIRMISH. Oh aye, for I would not deceive him, and I could choose, of all others.
PYE. Fear not, I warrant you; and so by those means we shall help one another to Patients, as the condition of the age affords creatures enow for cunning to work upon.
SKIRMISH.
Oh wondrous! new fools and fresh Asses.
PYE.
Oh, fit, fit! excellent.
SKIRMISH.
What, in the name of Conjuring?
PYE. My memory greets me happily with an admirable subject to gaze upon: The Lady-Widdow, who of late I saw weeping in her Garden for the death of her Husband; sure she ’as but a watrish soul, and half on’t by this time is dropt out of her Eyes: device well managed may do good upon her: it stands firm, my first practise shall be there.
SKIRMISH.
You have my voice, George.
PYE. Sh’as a gray Gull to her Brother, a fool to her only son, and an Ape to her youngest Daughter.—I overheard ’em severally, and from their words I’ll derive my device; and thou, old Peter Skirmish, shall be my second in all slights.