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SCENE I. A small cavern, in which is discovered a Wizard, sitting by a fire of embers, baking his scanty meal of parched corn, and counting out some money from a bag; a book and other things belonging to his art are strewed near him on the ground.

''Wiz. (alone.)'' Thanks to the restless soul of Mollo's son! Well thrives my trade. Here, the last hoarded coin Of the spare widow, trembling for the fate Of her remaining son, and the gay jewel Of fearful maid, who steals by fall of eve, With muffled face, to learn her warriour's doom. Lie in strange fellowship; so doth misfortune Make strange acquaintance meet. Brother, thou com'st in haste; what news, I pray?

Scout. Put up thy book, and bag, and wizard's wand, This is no time for witchery and wiles. Thy cave, I trow, will soon be fill'd with those, Who are by present ills too roughly shent To look thro' vision'd spells on those to come.