You’ll send us shares in’t, by this rate?
By Jove, sir,
I’ll win ten thousand pound, and send you half.
I’fac’s no oath.
No, no, he did but jest.
Go to. Go thank the Doctor: he’s your friend,
To take it so.
I thank his worship.
So!
Another angel.
Must I?
Must you! ’Slight,
What else is thanks? Will you be trivial?—Doctor,
Dapper gives him the money.
When must he come for his familiar?
Shall I not have it with me?
O, good sir!
There must a world of ceremonies pass;
You must be bathed and fumigated first:
Besides the Queen of Fairy does not rise
Till it be noon.
Not, if she danced, tonight.
And she must bless it.
Did you never see
Her royal Grace yet?
Whom?
Your aunt of Fairy?
Not since she kissed him in the cradle, Captain;
I can resolve you that.
Well, see her Grace,
Whate’er it cost you, for a thing that I know.
It will be somewhat hard to compass; but
However, see her. You are made, believe it,
If you can see her. Her Grace is a lone woman,
And very rich; and if she take a fancy,
She will do strange things. See her, at any hand.
’Slid, she may hap to leave you all she has:
It is the Doctor’s fear.
How will’t be done, then?
Let me alone, take you no thought. Do you
But say to me, Captain, I’ll see her Grace.
“Captain, I’ll see her Grace.”
Enough.
Who’s there?
Anon.
Aside to Face.
—Conduct him forth by the back way.—
Sir, against one o’clock prepare yourself;
Till when you must be fasting; only take
Three drops of vinegar in at your nose,
Two at your mouth, and one at either ear;
Then bathe your fingers’ ends and wash your eyes,
To sharpen your five senses, and cry “hum”
Thrice, and then “buz” as often; and then come.
Can you remember this?
I warrant you.
Well then, away. It is but your bestowing
Some twenty nobles ’mong her Grace’s servants,
And put on a clean shirt: you do not know
What grace her Grace may do you in clean linen.
Within. Come in! Good wives, I pray you forbear me now;
Troth I can do you no good till afternoon—
What is your name, say you? Abel Drugger?
Yes, sir.
A seller of tobacco?
Yes, sir.
Umph!
Free of the grocers?
Ay, and’t please you.
Well—
Your business, Abel?
This, and’t please your worship;
I am a young beginner, and am building
Of a new shop, and’t like your worship, just
At corner of a street:—Here is the plot on’t—
And I would know by art, sir, of your worship,
Which way I should make my door, by necromancy,
And where my shelves; and which should be for boxes,
And which for pots. I would be glad to thrive, sir:
And I was wished to your worship by a gentleman,
One Captain Face, that says you know men’s planets,
And their good angels, and their bad.
I do,
If I do see them—
What! My honest Abel?
Though art well met here.
Troth, sir, I was speaking,
Just as your worship came here, of your worship:
I pray you speak for me to Master Doctor.
He shall do anything.—Doctor, do you hear?
This is my friend, Abel, an honest fellow;
He lets me have good tobacco, and he does not
Sophisticate it with sack-lees or oil,
Nor washes it in muscadel and grains,
Nor buries it in gravel, under ground,
Wrapped up in greasy leather, or pissed clouts:
But keeps it in fine lily pots, that, opened,
Smell like conserve of roses, or French beans.
He has his maple block, his silver tongs,
Winchester pipes, and fire of Juniper:
A neat, spruce, honest fellow, and no goldsmith.
He is a fortunate fellow, that I am sure on.
Already, sir, have you found it? Lo thee, Abel!
And in right way toward riches—
Sir!
This summer
He will be of the clothing of his company,
And next spring called to the scarlet; spend what he can.
What, and so little beard?
Sir, you must think,
He may have a receipt to make hair come:
But he’ll be wise, preserve his youth, and fine for’t;
His fortune looks for him another way.
’Slid, Doctor, how canst thou know this so soon?
I am amused at that!
By a rule, Captain,
In metoposcopy, which I do work by;
A certain star in the forehead, which you see not.
Your chestnut or your olive-coloured face
Does never fail: and your long ear doth promise.
I knew’t by certain spots, too, in his teeth,
And on the nail of his mercurial finger.
Which finger’s that?
His little finger. Look.
You were born upon a Wednesday?
Yes, indeed, sir.
The thumb, in chiromancy, we give Venus;
The forefinger, to Jove; the midst, to Saturn;
The ring, to Sol; the least, to Mercury,
Who was the lord, sir, of his horoscope,
His house of life being Libra; which foreshowed,
He should be a merchant, and should trade with balance.
Why, this is strange! Is it not, honest Nab?
There is a ship now, coming from Ormus,
That shall yield him such a commodity
Of drugs
Pointing to the plan.
—This is the west, and this the south?
Yes, sir.
And those are your two sides?
Ay, sir.
Make me your door, then, south; your broad side, west:
And on the east side of your shop, aloft,
Write Mathlai, Tarmiel, and Baraborat;
Upon the north part, Rael, Velel, Thiel.
They are the names of those mercurial spirits,
That do fright flies from boxes.
Yes, sir.
And
Beneath your threshold, bury me a loadstone
To draw in gallants that wear spurs: the rest,
They’ll seem to follow.
That’s a secret, Nab!
And, on your stall, a puppet, with a vice
And a court-fucus to call city-dames:
You shall deal much with minerals.
Sir, I have.
At home, already—
Ay, I know you have arsenic,
Vitriol, sal-tartar, argaile, alkali,
Cinoper: I know all.—This fellow, Captain,
Will come, in time, to be a great distiller,
And give a say—I will not say directly,
But very fair—at
