Mach. Nay, hear him, love;
Believe me, he's a man that may
Be secretary to the gods; he is alone
In art; 'twere sin to name a second: all are
Dunces to him.
Ant. How easy is the faith of the ambitious!
[Aside.
Mach. Follow me to the council.
[Exit.
Aur. Are you the man my husband speaks so high of?
Are you skill'd i' the stars?
Ant. Yes, madam.
Aur. Your habit says, or you abuse the custom,[35]
You're a physician?
Ant. Madam, I'm both.[36]
Aur. And d'ye find no let that stops my rising?