PAN. I'll fetch a cry from th' bottom of my heels, But I'll roar loud enough; and thou must second me With wonder at the sudden accident. CRI. But yours is the main part; for, as you play't, You win or lose the chain. PAN. No more, no more; he comes. SCENE II. ALBUMAZAR, PANDOLFO, CRICCA. ALB. Signior Pandolfo, three-quarters of an hour Renders your servant perfectly transform'd. [PANDOLFO _retires_. CRI. Is he not wholly chang'd? What parts are wanting? ALB. Antonio's shape hath cloth'd his bulk[312] and visage; Only his hands and feet, so large and callous, Require more time to supple. CRI. Pray you, sir, How long shall he retain this metamorphosis? ALB. The complete circle of a natural day. CRI. A natural day! are any days unnatural? ALB. I mean the revolution of th' first mover, Just twice twelve hours, in which period the rap'd motion Rolls all the orbs from east to occident. PAN. [_Returning._] Help, help! thieves, thieves! neighbours, I am robb'd: thieves, thieves! CRI. What a noise make you, sir. PAN. Have I not reason, That thus am robb'd? Thieves, thieves! call constables, The watch and serjeants, friends and constables; Neighbours, I am undone. CRI. This is well begun, So he hold out still with a higher strain. [_Aside._ What ails you, sir? PAN. Cricca, my chamber's spoil'd Of all my hangings, clothes, and silver plate. [_Exit_ ALBUMAZAR. CRI. Why, this is bravely feign'd; continue, sir. PAN. Lay all the goldsmiths, keepers, marshals, bailiffs. CRI. Fie, sir, your passion falls; cry louder--roar, That all the street may hear. PAN. Thieves, thieves, thieves! All that I had is gone, and more than all. CRI. Ha, ha, ha! hold out; lay out a lion's throat; A little louder. PAN. I can cry no longer, My throat's sore; I am robb'd, I am robb'd, all's gone, Both my own treasure, and the things I borrow'd. Make thou an outcry, I have lost my voice: Cry fire, and then they'll hear thee. CRI. Good, good: thieves! What have you lost? PAN. Wine, jewels, tablecloths, A cupboard of rich plate. CRI. Fie! you'll spoil all. Now you outdo it. Say but a bowl or two. PAN. Villain, I say all's gone; the room's as clean As a wip'd looking-glass: O me, O me! CRI. What, in good earnest? PAN. Fool, in accursed earnest. CRI. You gull me, sure. PAN. The window towards the south stands ope, from whence Went all my treasure. Where's the astrologer? ALB. Here, sir; And hardly can abstain from laughing, to see you vex Yourself in vain. PAN. In vain, Albumazar? I left my plate with you, and 'tis all vanish'd; And you shall answer it.