Act 5 — SCENE VIII.
Reading edition
Pandolfo, Cricca.
Pan. Here's a strange man indeed, of skill profound! How right he knew my business, 'fore he saw me! And how thou scoff'st him, when we talk'd in private! 'Tis a brave instrument, his autocousticon. Cri. In earnest, sir, I took him for a cheater; As many, under name of cunning men, With promise of astrology much abuse The gaping vulgar, wronging that sacred skill, That in the stars reads all our actions.
Pan. Are there no arches o'er our heads? Look, Cricca.
Cri. None but the arch of heaven, that cannot fall.
Pan. Is not that made of marble? I have read A stone dropp'd from the moon;[271] and much I fear The fit should take her now, and void another. Cri. Fear nothing, sir; this charm'd mercurial cap Shields from the fall of mountains: 'tis not a stone Can check his art: walk boldly.
Pan. I do. Let's in. [Exeunt.