which I have thus rendered in a poor paraphrase of mine own,—
Wilt thou mix hellebore, who dost not know
How many grains should to the mixture go?
The art of medicine this forbids, I trow.
“Moreover, the evil reputation of the master, and his strange and doubtful end, or at least sudden disappearance, prevented any, excepting the most desperate of men, to seek any advice or opinion from the servant; wherefore, the poor vermin was likely at first to swarf for very hunger. But the devil that serves him, since the death of Demetrius or Doboobie, put him on a fresh device. This knave, whether from the inspiration of the devil, or from early education, shoes horses better than e'er a man betwixt us and Iceland; and so he gives up his practice on the bipeds, the two-legged and unfledged species called mankind, and betakes him entirely to shoeing of horses.”
“Indeed! and where does he lodge all this time?” said Tressilian. “And does he shoe horses well? Show me his dwelling presently.”
The interruption pleased not the Magister, who exclaimed, “O CAECA MENS MORTALIUM!—though, by the way, I used that quotation before. But I would the classics could afford me any sentiment of power to stop those who are so willing to rush upon their own destruction. Hear but, I pray you, the conditions of this man,” said he, in continuation, “ere you are so willing to place yourself within his danger—”
“A' takes no money for a's work,” said the dame, who stood by, enraptured as it were with the line words and learned apophthegms which glided so fluently from her erudite inmate, Master Holiday. But this interruption pleased not the Magister more than that of the traveller.
“Peace,” said he, “Gammer Sludge; know your place, if it be your will. SUFFLAMINA, Gammer Sludge, and allow me to expound this matter to our worshipful guest.—Sir,” said he, again addressing Tressilian, “this old woman speaks true, though in her own rude style; for certainly this FABER FERRARIUS, or blacksmith, takes money of no one.”
“And that is a sure sign he deals with Satan,” said Dame Sludge; “since no good Christian would ever refuse the wages of his labour.”
“The old woman hath touched it again,” said the pedagogue; “REM ACU TETIGIT—she hath pricked it with her needle's point. This Wayland takes no money, indeed; nor doth he show himself to any one.”
“And can this madman, for such I hold him,” said the traveller, “know aught like good skill of his trade?”