University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

Rut. Polish. Lady. Keepe. Placentia.
Rut.
Whence? what's hee call'd?

Pol.
Doctor, doe all you can,
I pray you, and beseech you, for my charge, here.

Lad.
She's my tendring Gossip, loves my Neice.

Pol.
I know you can doe all things, what you please, Sir,
For a young Damsel, my good Ladies Neice, here!
You can doe what you list.

Rut.
Peace Tiffany.

Pol.
Especially in this new case, o' the Dropsie.
The Gentlewoman (I doe feare) is leven'd.

Rut.
Leven'd? what's that?

Pol.
Puft, blowne, and't please your worship.

Rut.
What! Darke, by darker? What is blowne? puff'd? speake
English—

Pol.
Tainted (and't please you) some doe call it.
She swels, and swels so with it.—

Rut.
Give her vent,
If shee doe swell. A Gimblet must be had:
It is a Tympanites she is troubled with;
There are three kinds: The first is Ana-sarca
Vnder the Flesh, a Tumor: that's not hers.
The second is Ascites, or Aquosus,
A watry humour: that's not hers neither.
But Tympanites (which we call the Drum)
A wind bombes in her belly, must be unbrac'd,
And with a Faucet, or a Peg, let out,
And she'll doe well: get her a husband.

Pol.
Yes,
I say so Mr. Doctor, and betimes too.

Lad.
As
Soone as wee can: let her beare up to day,
Laugh, and keepe company, at Gleeke, or Crimpe.

Pol.
Your Ladiship sayes right, Crimpe, sure, will cure her.

Rut.
Yes, and Gleeke too; peace Gossip Tittle-Tattle,
Shee must to morrow, downe into the Countrey,
Some twenty mile; A Coach, and six brave Horses:
Take the fresh aire, a moneth there, or five weekes:
And then returne a Bride, up to the Towne,
For any husband i'the Hemisphere,
To chuck at; when she has dropt her Timpane.

Pol.
Must she then drop it?

Rut.
Thence, 'tis call'd a Dropsie.
The Timpanites is one spice of it;
A toy, a thing of nothing, a meere vapour:
Ile blow't away.

Lad.
Needle, get you the Coach
Ready, against to morrow morning.

Nee.
Yes Madam.

Lad.
Ile downe with her my selfe, and thanke the Doctor.

Pol.
Wee all shall thanke him. But, deare Madam, thinke,
Resolve upon a man, this day.

Lad.
I ha' done't.
To tell you true, (sweet Gossip;) here is none
But Master Doctor, hee shall be o' the Counsell:
The man I have design'd her to, indeed,
Is Master Practise: he's a neat young man,
Forward, and growing up, in a profession!
Like to be somebody, if the Hall stand!
And Pleading hold! A prime young Lawyers wife,
Is a right happy fortune.

Rut.
And shee bringing
So plentifull a portion, they may live
Like King, and Queene, at common Law together!
Sway Judges, guide the Courts; command the Clarkes,
And fright the Evidence; rule at their pleasures,
Like petty Soveraignes in all cases.

Pol.
O, that
Will be a worke of time; she may be old
Before her husband rise to a chiefe Judge;
And all her flower be gone: No, no, a Lady
O' the first head I'ld have her; and in Court:
The Lady Silk-worme, a Diaphanous Lady:
And be a Vi-countesse to carry all
Before her (as wee say) her Gentleman-usher:
And cast off Pages, bare, to bid her Aunt
Welcome unto her honour, at her lodgings.

Rut.
You say well, Ladies Gossip; if my Lady
Could admit that, to have her Neice precede her.

Lad.
For that, I must consult mine owne Ambition,
My zealous Gossip.

Pol.
O, you shall precede her:
You shall be a Countesse! Sir Diaphanous,
Shall get you made a Countesse! Here he comes;
Has my voice certaine: O fine Courtier!
O blessed man! the bravery prick't out,
To make my dainty charge, a Vi-countesse!
And my good Lady, her Aunt, Countesse at large!