Trin. Now do I feel the calf of my right leg
Twingle and dwindle to th' smallness of a bed-staff:
Such a speech more turns my high shoes strait boots.[282]
Ron. Ne'er were those authors cited to better purpose,
For through that window all Pandolfo's treasures
Must take their flight, and fall upon my shoulders.
Alb. Now if this light meridional had a large casement,
That overlook'd some unfrequented alley,
'Twere much more proper; for th' Intelligences
Are nice and coy, scorning to mix their essence
With throng'd disturbance of cross multitudes.
Ron. Spoken by art, Albumazar; a provident setter;
For so shall we receive what thou hand'st out,
Free from discovery. But, in my conscience,
All windows point full south for such a business.
Pan. Go to my house, satisfy your curious choice:
But, credit me, this parlour's fit; it neighbours
To a blind alley, that in busiest term-time
Feels not the footing of one passenger.
Alb. Now, then, declining from Theourgia,
Artenosaria[283] Pharmacia rejecting
Necro-puro-geo-hydro-cheiro-coscinomancy,[284]
With other vain and superstitious sciences,
We'll anchor at the art prestigiatory,
That represents one figure for another,
With smooth deceit abusing th' eyes of mortals.
Trin. O my right arm! 'tis alter'd, and, methinks,
Longs for a sword. These words have slain a ploughman.
Alb. And, since the moon's the only planet changing,[285]
For from the Neomenia in seven days
To the Dicotima, in seven more to the Panselinum,[286]
And in as much from Plenilunium
Thorough Dicotima to Neomenia,
'Tis she must help us in this operation.
Trin. What towns are these? The strangeness of these names
Hath scal'd the marks of many a painful harvest,
And made my new-pil'd finger itch for dice.