MAC. Ay, when I cannot shun you, we will meet. 'Tis strange! of all the creatures I have seen, I envy not this Buffone, for indeed Neither his fortunes nor his parts deserve it: But I do hate him, as I hate the devil, Or that brass-visaged monster Barbarism. O, 'tis an open-throated, black-mouth'd cur, That bites at all, but eats on those that feed him. A slave, that to your face will, serpent-like, Creep on the ground, as he would eat the dust, And to your back will turn the tail, and sting More deadly than the scorpion: stay, who's this? Now, for my soul, another minion Of the old lady Chance's! I'll observe him. [ENTER SORDIDO WITH AN ALMANACK IN HIS HAND. SORD. O rare! good, good, good, good, good! I thank my stars, I thank my stars for it. MAC. Said I not true? doth not his passion speak Out of my divination? O my senses, Why lost you not your powers, and become Dull'd, if not deaded, with this spectacle? I know him, it is Sordido, the farmer, A boor, and brother to that swine was here. [ASIDE. SORD. Excellent, excellent, excellent! as I would wish, as I would wish. MAC. See how the strumpet fortune tickles him, And makes him swoon with laughter, O, O, O! SORD. Ha, ha, ha! I will not sow my grounds this year. Let me see, what harvest shall we have? "June, July?" MAC. What, is't a prognostication raps him so? SORD. "The 20, 21, 22 days, rain and wind." O good, good! "the 23, and 24, rain and some wind," good! "the 25, rain," good still! "26, 27, 28, wind and some rain"; would it had been rain and some wind! well, 'tis good, when it can be no better. "29, inclining to rain": inclining to rain! that's not so good now: "30, and 31, wind and no rain": no rain! 'slid, stay: this is worse and worse: What says he of St. Swithin's? turn back, look, "saint Swithin's: no rain!" MAC. O, here's a precious, dirty, damned rogue, That fats himself with expectation Of rotten weather, and unseason'd hours; And he is rich for it, an elder brother! His barns are full, his ricks and mows well trod, His garners crack with store! O, 'tis well; ha, ha, ha! A plague consume thee, and thy house!