A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xi Part 78

RON. Sir, 'tis a perspicil,[246] the best under heaven: With this I'll read a leaf of that small Iliad That in a walnut-sh.e.l.l was desk'd, as plainly Twelve long miles off, as you see Paul's from Highgate.

PAN. Wonderful workman of so rare an instrument!

RON. 'Twill draw the moon so near, that you would swear The bush of thorns in't p.r.i.c.ks your eyes: the crystal Of a large arch multiplies millions, Works more than by point-blank, and by refractions Optic and strange searcheth, like the eye of truth, All closets that have windows. Have at Rome!

I see the pope, his cardinals and his mule, The English college and the Jesuits, And what they write and do.

PAN. Let me see, too.

RON. So far you cannot: for this gla.s.s is fram'd For eyes of thirty; you are nigh threescore.

But for some fifty miles 'twill serve you, With help of a refractive gla.s.s that's yonder.

For trial, sir; where are you now?

PAN. In London.

RON. Ha' you found the gla.s.s within that chamber?

PAN. Yes.

RON. What see you?

PAN. Wonders! wonders! I see, as in a landscape, An honourable throng of n.o.ble persons, As clear as I were under the same roof: Seems by their gracious brows and courteous looks Something they see, which if it be indifferent, They'll fav'rably accept: if otherwise, They'll pardon: who or what they be, I know not.

RON. Why, that's the court at Cambridge, forty miles hence.

What else?

PAN. A hall thrust full of bare heads, some bald, some bush'd, Some bravely branch'd.[247]

RON. That's the university, Larded with townsmen. Look you there, what now?

PAN. Who? I see Dover Pier, a man now landing.

Attended by two porters, that seem to groan Under the burden of two loads of paper.

RON. That's Coriatus Persicus[248] and's observations Of Asia and Afric.

PAN. The price?

RON. I dare not sell't; But here's another of a stranger virtue.

The great Alb.u.mazar, by wondrous art, In imitation of this perspicil, Hath fram'd an instrument that magnifies Objects of hearing, as this doth of seeing; That you may know each whisper from Prester John Against the wind, as fresh as 'twere delivered Through a trunk or Gloucester's list'ning wall.[249]

PAN. And may I see it, sir? Bless me once more.

RON. 'Tis something ceremonious; but you shall try't.

Stand thus. What hear you?

PAN. Nothing.

RON. Set your hands thus, That the vertex of the organ may perpendicularly Point at our zenith. What hear you now? [_Laughing within._

PAN. A humming noise of laughter.

RON. Why, that's the court And university, that now are merry With an old gentlemen in a comedy. What now?

PAN. Celestial music; but it seems far off.

List, list! 'tis nearer now.

RON. Tis music 'twixt the acts. What now?

PAN. Nothing.

RON. And now?

PAN. Music again, and strangely delicate, O, most angelical!

RON. And now? [_They sing[250] within._]

_Sing sweetly, that our notes may cause_ _The heavenly orbs themselves to pause:_ _And at our music stand as still_ _As at Jove's amorous will.[251]_ _So now release them as before,_ _Th' have waited long enough; no more._

PAN. 'Tis gone, give me't again. O, do not so.

RON. What hear you now?

PAN. No more than a dead oyster.

O, let me see this wond'rous instrument.

RON. Sir, this is called an autocousticon.[252]

PAN. Autocousticon![253]

Why, 'tis a pair of a.s.s's ears, and large ones.

RON. True; for in such a form the great Alb.u.mazar Hath fram'd it purposely, as fitt'st receivers Of sounds, as spectacles like eyes for sight.

PAN. What gold will buy't?

RON. I'll sell't you when 'tis finish'd.

As yet the epiglottis[254] is unperfect.

PAN. Soon as you can; and here's ten crowns in earnest.

For when 'tis done, and I have purchas'd it, I mean t' entail it on my heirs-male for ever, Spite of the ruptures of the common law.

RON. Nay, rather giv't to Flavia for her jointure: For she that marries you deserves it richly.

SCENE IV.

CRICCA, PANDOLFO, RONCA.

CRI. Sir, I have spoke with Lelio, and he answers----

PAN. Hang Lelio and his answers. Come hither, Cricca, Wonder for me, admire, and be astonish'd; Marvel thyself to marble at these engines, These strange Gorgonian instruments.