A sign, sir.
FACE. Ay, a good lucky one, a thriving sign, doctor.
SUB. I was devising now.
FACE. 'Slight, do not say so,
He will repent he gave you any more --
What say you to his constellation, doctor,
The Balance?
SUB. No, that way is stale, and common.
A townsman born in Taurus, gives the bull,
Or the bull's-head: in Aries, the ram,
A poor device! No, I will have his name
Form'd in some mystic character; whose radii,
Striking the senses of the passers by,
Shall, by a virtual influence, breed affections,
That may result upon the party owns it:
As thus --
FACE. Nab!
SUB. He shall have "a bell," that's "Abel;"
And by it standing one whose name is "Dee,"
In a "rug" gown, there's "D," and "Rug," that's "drug:"
And right anenst him a dog snarling "er;"
There's "Drugger," Abel Drugger. That's his sign.
And here's now mystery and hieroglyphic!
FACE. Abel, thou art made.
DRUG. Sir, I do thank his worship.
FACE. Six o' thy legs more will not do it, Nab.
He has brought you a pipe of tobacco, doctor.
DRUG. Yes, sir;
I have another thing I would impart --
FACE. Out with it, Nab.
DRUG. Sir, there is lodged, hard by me,
A rich young widow --
FACE. Good! a bona roba?
DRUG. But nineteen, at the most.
FACE. Very good, Abel.
DRUG. Marry, she's not in fashion yet; she wears
A hood, but it stands a cop.
FACE. No matter, Abel.
DRUG. And I do now and then give her a fucus --
FACE. What! dost thou deal, Nab?
SUB.
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