Har. Who is't? speak quickly.
Ron. Where, good Albumazar?
Alb. 'Tis a rich gentleman, as old as foolish;
The poor remnant of whose brain, that age had left him,
The doting love of a young girl hath dried:
And, which concerns us most, he gives firm credit
To necromancy and astrology.
Enter Furbo.
Sending to me, as one, that promise both.
Pandolfo is the man.
Har. What, old Pandolfo?
Alb. The same: but stay, yon's Furbo, whose smooth[235] brow
Shines with good news, and's visage promises
Triumphs and trophies to's.
[Furbo plays.
Ron. On my life
He has learnt out all; I know it by his music.[236]
Then Furbo sings this song.