Face. Already, Sir, ha' you found it? Lo' the Abel!
Sub. And in right way to'ward riches.
Face. Sir!
Sub. This Summer
He will be of the Clothing[98] of his Company.
And, next spring, call'd to the Scarlet.[99] Spend what he can.
Face. What, and so little Beard?
Sub. Sir, you must thinke,
He may have a receipt to make hayre come.
But he'll be wise, preserve his youth, and fine[100] for't.
His fortune lookes for him, another way.
Face. 'Slid, Doctor, how canst thou know this so soone?
I am amus'd at that!
Sub. By a rule, Captayne
In Metaposcopie which I doe worke by,
A certaine Starre i' the forehead, which you see not.
Your Chest-nut, or your Olive colourd face
Do's never fayle; and your long Eare doth promise.
I knew't, by certaine spotts too, in his teeth,
And on the nayle of his Mercurial finger.
Face. Which finger's that?
Sub. His little finger, Looke.
Yo' were borne upon a Wensday.