ALB. Southward must look a wide and spacious window: For howsoever Omar, Alchabitius, Hali, Abenezra, seem something to dissent; Yet Zoroastres, son of Oromasus, Hiarcha, Brachman, Thespion, Gymnosophist, Gebir, and Budda Babylonicus,[281] With all the subtle Cabalists and Chaldees, Swear the best influence for our metamorphosis, Stoops from the south, or, as some say, southeast. PAN. This room's as fit as you had made it of purpose. TRIN. Now do I feel the calf of my right leg Twingle and dwindle to th' smallness of a bed-staff: Such a speech more turns my high shoes strait boots.[282] RON. Ne'er were those authors cited to better purpose, For through that window all Pandolfo's treasures Must take their flight, and fall upon my shoulders. ALB. Now if this light meridional had a large casement, That overlook'd some unfrequented alley, 'Twere much more proper; for th' Intelligences Are nice and coy, scorning to mix their essence With throng'd disturbance of cross multitudes. RON. Spoken by art, Albumazar; a provident setter; For so shall we receive what thou hand'st out, Free from discovery. But, in my conscience, All windows point full south for such a business. PAN. Go to my house, satisfy your curious choice: But, credit me, this parlour's fit; it neighbours To a blind alley, that in busiest term-time Feels not the footing of one passenger. ALB. Now, then, declining from Theourgia, Artenosaria[283] Pharmacia rejecting Necro-puro-geo-hydro-cheiro-coscinomancy,[284] With other vain and superstitious sciences, We'll anchor at the art prestigiatory, That represents one figure for another, With smooth deceit abusing th' eyes of mortals. TRIN. O my right arm! 'tis alter'd, and, methinks, Longs for a sword. These words have slain a ploughman. ALB. And, since the moon's the only planet changing,[285] For from the Neomenia in seven days To the Dicotima, in seven more to the Panselinum,[286] And in as much from Plenilunium Thorough Dicotima to Neomenia, 'Tis she must help us in this operation. TRIN. What towns are these? The strangeness of these names Hath scal'd the marks of many a painful harvest, And made my new-pil'd finger itch for dice. PAN. Deeply consider'd, wondrous Albumazar! O, let me kiss those lips that flow with science. ALB. For by her various looks she intimates To understanding souls, that only she Hath power t' effect a true formation. Cause then your parlour to be swept carefully Wash'd, rubb'd, perfum'd, hang'd round, from top to bottom, With pure white lunary tap'stry or needlework; But if 'twere cloth of silver, 'twere much better. RON. Good, good! a rich beginning: good!--what's next?