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,