Cri. Pray you, stand here, and wonder now for me;
Be astonish'd at his jargon,[261] for I cannot.
I'll pawn[262] my life he proves a mere impostor.
[Aside.
Pan. Peace, not a word, be silent and admire.
Alb. As for the issue of the next summer's wars.
Reveal't to none, keep it to thyself in secret,
As touchstone of my skill in prophecy. Begone.
Ron. I go, sir.
[Exit.
Alb. Signior Pandolfo, I pray you, pardon me,
Exotical despatches of great consequence
Stay'd me; and casting the nativity
O' th' Cham of Tartary, and a private conference
With a mercurial intelligence.
Y' are welcome in a good hour, better minute,
Best second, happiest third, fourth, fifth, and scruple.
Let the twelve houses of the horoscope
Be lodg'd with fortitudes and fortunates,[263]
To make you bless'd in your designs, Pandolfo.
Pan. Were't not much trouble to your starry employments,
I, a poor mortal, would entreat your furtherance
In a terrestrial business.
Alb. My ephemeris[264] lies,
Or I foresee your errand. Thus, 'tis thus.
You had a neighbour call'd Antonio,
A widower like yourself, whose only daughter,
Flavia, you love, and he as much admir'd
Your child Sulpitia. Is not this right?
Pan. Yes, sir: O strange! Cricca, admire in silence.
Alb. You two decreed a countermatch betwixt you,
And purposed to truck daughters. Is't not so?