ALB. And Homer filch'd all from an Egyptian priestess,[231] The world's a theatre of theft. Great rivers[232] Rob smaller brooks, and them the ocean; And in this world of ours, this microcosm, Guts from the stomach steal, and what they spare, The meseraics filch, and lay't i' the liver: Where, lest it should be found, turn'd to red nectar, 'Tis by a thousand thievish veins convey'd, And hid in flesh, nerves, bones, muscles, and sinews: In tendons, skin, and hair; so that, the property Thus alter'd, the theft can never be discover'd. Now all these pilf'ries, couch'd and compos'd in order, Frame thee and me. Man's a quick mass of thievery. RON. Most philosophical Albumazar! HAR. I thought these parts had lent and borrowed mutual. ALB. Say, they do so: 'tis done with full intention Ne'er to restore, and that's flat robbery. Therefore go on: follow your virtuous laws, Your cardinal virtue, _great necessity;_ Wait on her close with all occasions; Be watchful, have as many eyes as heaven, And ears as harvest: be resolv'd and impudent: Believe none, trust none; for in this city (As in a fought field, crows and carcases) No dwellers are but cheaters and cheatees. RON. If all the houses in the town were prisons, The chambers cages, all the settles[233] stocks, The broad-gates, gallowses, and the whole people Justices, juries, constables, keepers, and hangmen, I'd practise, spite of all; and leave behind me A fruitful seminary of our profession, And call them by the name of Albumazarians. HAR. And I no less, were all the city thieves As cunning as thyself. ALB. Why, bravely spoken: Fitting such generous spirits! I'll make way To your great virtue with a deep resemblance Of high astrology. Harpax and Ronca, List to our project:[234] I have new-lodg'd a prey Hard by, that (taken) is, so fat and rich, 'Twill make us leave off trading, and fall to purchase. HAR. Who is't? speak quickly. RON. Where, good Albumazar? ALB. 'Tis a rich gentleman, as old as foolish; The poor remnant of whose brain, that age had left him, The doting love of a young girl hath dried: And, which concerns us most, he gives firm credit To necromancy and astrology. _Enter_ FURBO. Sending to me, as one, that promise both. Pandolfo is the man. HAR. What, old Pandolfo? ALB. The same: but stay, yon's Furbo, whose smooth[235] brow Shines with good news, and's visage promises Triumphs and trophies to's. [FURBO _plays_. RON. On my life He has learnt out all; I know it by his music.[236] _Then_ FURBO _sings this song_.