Drug. Yes, indeed, Sir.
Sub. The Thumbe, in Chiromantie, we give Venus;
The Fore-finger to Iove; the Midst, to Saturne;
The Ring to Sol, the Least to Mercurie,
Who was the Lord, Sir, of his Horoscope,
His House of Life being Libra. Which foreshew'd
He should be a Marchant, and should trade with Ballance.
Face. Why, this is strange! Is't not, honest Nab?
Sub. There is a Ship now, comming from Ormu's,
That shall yeeld him such a Commoditie
Of Drugs. This is the West, and this the South?
Drug. Yes Sir.
Sub. And those are your two sides!
Drug. I, Sir.
Sub. Make me your Dore, then, South; your broad side, West;
And, on the East-side of your shop, aloft,
Write Mathlaj, Tarmiel, and Baraborat;
Upon the North-part Rael, Velel, Thiel,
These are the names of those Mercurian Spirits,
That doe fright flyes from boxes.
Drug. Yes Sir,