Pan. Wine, jewels, tablecloths,
A cupboard of rich plate.
Cri. Fie! you'll spoil all.
Now you outdo it. Say but a bowl or two.
Pan. Villain, I say all's gone; the room's as clean
As a wip'd looking-glass: O me, O me!
Cri. What, in good earnest?
Pan. Fool, in accursed earnest.
Cri. You gull me, sure.
Pan. The window towards the south stands ope, from whence
Went all my treasure. Where's the astrologer?
Alb. Here, sir;
And hardly can abstain from laughing, to see you vex
Yourself in vain.
Pan. In vain, Albumazar?
I left my plate with you, and 'tis all vanish'd;
And you shall answer it.
Alb. O, were it possible
By power of art to check what art hath done,
Your man should ne'er be chang'd: to wrong me thus
With foul suspicion of flat felony!
Your plate, your cloth of silver, wine and jewels,
Linen, and all the rest, I gave to Trincalo,
And for more safety lock'd them in the lobby.
He'll keep them carefully. But, as you love your mistress,
Disturb him not this half-hour, lest you'll have him
Like to a centaur, half-clown, half-gentleman.
Suffer his foot and hand, that's yet untouch'd,
To be ennobled like his other members.