Pan. I am sorry for't; excuse me.
Trin. I am sorry I can't[357] excuse you. But I pardon you.
Pan. Now tell me, where's the plate and cloth of silver,
The gold and jewels, that the astrologer
Committed to thy keeping?
Trin. What plate, what jewels?
He gave me none. But, when he went to change me,
After a thousand circles and ceremonies,
He binds me fast upon a form, and blinds me
With a thick table-napkin. Not long after
Unbinds my head and feet, and gives me light;
And then I plainly saw that I saw nothing:
The parlour was clean swept of all was in't.
Pan. O me! O me!
Trin. What ails you, sir? what ails you?
Pan. I am undone! I have lost my love, my plate,
My whole estate, and with the rest myself.
Trin. Lose not your patience too. Leave this lamenting,
And lay the town; you may recover it.
Pan. 'Tis to small purpose. In, and hold thy peace.
[Exit Trincalo.