RON. Thus: one of your bold thunders may abortive, And cause that birth miscarry, that might have prov'd An instrument of wonders, greater and rarer Than Apollonius the magician wrought.[245] PAN. Are you your master's countryman? RON. Yes; why ask you? PAN. Then must I get an interpreter for your language. RON. You need not; With a wind-instrument my master made, In five days you may breathe ten languages, As perfect as the devil or himself. PAN. When may I speak with him? RON. When't please the stars. He pulls you not a hair, nor pares a nail, Nor stirs a foot, without due figuring The horoscope. Sit down awhile, and't please you, I see the heavens incline to his approach. PAN. What's this, I pray you? RON. An engine to catch stars, A mace to arrest such planets as have lurk'd Four thousand years under protection Of Jupiter and Sol. PAN. Pray you, speak English. RON. Sir, 'tis a perspicil,[246] the best under heaven: With this I'll read a leaf of that small Iliad That in a walnut-shell was desk'd, as plainly Twelve long miles off, as you see Paul's from Highgate. PAN. Wonderful workman of so rare an instrument! RON. 'Twill draw the moon so near, that you would swear The bush of thorns in't pricks your eyes: the crystal Of a large arch multiplies millions, Works more than by point-blank, and by refractions Optic and strange searcheth, like the eye of truth, All closets that have windows. Have at Rome! I see the pope, his cardinals and his mule, The English college and the Jesuits, And what they write and do. PAN. Let me see, too. RON. So far you cannot: for this glass is fram'd For eyes of thirty; you are nigh threescore. But for some fifty miles 'twill serve you, With help of a refractive glass that's yonder. For trial, sir; where are you now? PAN. In London. RON. Ha' you found the glass within that chamber? PAN. Yes. RON. What see you? PAN. Wonders! wonders! I see, as in a landscape, An honourable throng of noble persons, As clear as I were under the same roof: Seems by their gracious brows and courteous looks Something they see, which if it be indifferent, They'll fav'rably accept: if otherwise, They'll pardon: who or what they be, I know not. RON. Why, that's the court at Cambridge, forty miles hence. What else? PAN. A hall thrust full of bare heads, some bald, some bush'd, Some bravely branch'd.[247] RON. That's the university, Larded with townsmen. Look you there, what now? PAN. Who? I see Dover Pier, a man now landing. Attended by two porters, that seem to groan Under the burden of two loads of paper. RON. That's Coriatus Persicus[248] and's observations Of Asia and Afric. PAN. The price?