 | The Magnetick Lady :or, Hvmors Reconcil'd |  |
Scene IV.
Rut. Palate. Bias, bringing out Interest in a Chaire. Item. Polish following.Rut.
Come, bring him out into the aire a little:
There set him downe. Bow him, yet bow him more,
Dash that same Glasse of water in his face:
Now tweak him by the nose. Hard, harder yet:
If it but call the blood up from the heart,
I aske no more. See, what a feare can doe!
Pinch him in the nape of the neck now, nip him, nip him.
Ite.
He feeles, there's life in him.
Pal.
He graones, and stirres.
Rut.
Tell him the Captaine's gone.
Int.
Ha!
Pal.
He's gone Sir.
Rut.
Gi' him a box, hard, hard, on his left eare.
Int.
O!
Rut.
How doe you feele your selfe?
Int.
Sore, sore.
Rut.
But where?
Int.
I'my neck.
Rut.
I nipt him there.
Int.
And i' my head.
Rut.
I box'd him twice, or thrice, to move those Sinewes.
Bia.
I sweare you did.
Pol.
What a brave man's a Doctor,
To beat one into health! I thought his blowes
Would eene ha' kild him: hee did feele no more
Then a great horse.
Int.
Is the wild Captaine gone?
That man of murther?
Bia.
All is calme and quiet.
Int.
Say you so, Cosen Bias? Then all's well.
Pal.
How quickly a man is lost!
Bia.
And soone recover'd!
Pol.
Where there are meanes, and Doctors, learned men,
And their Apothecaries, who are not now,
(As Chawcer sayes) their friendship to begin.
Well, could they teach each other how to win
I' their swath bands—.
Rut.
Leave your Poetry good Gossip.
Your Chawcers clouts, and wash your dishes with 'hem,
Wee must rub up the roots of his disease,
And crave your peace awhile, or else your absence.
Pol.
Nay, I know when to hold my peace.
Rut.
Then do it.
Gi' me your hand Sir Moath. Let's feele your pulse.
It is a Pursinesse, a kind of Stoppage,
Or tumor o' the Purse, for want of exercise,
That you are troubled with: some ligatures
I'th neck of your Vesica, or Marsupium,
Are so close knit, that you cannot evaporate;
And therefore you must use relaxatives.
Beside, they say, you are so restive growne,
You cannot but with trouble put your hand
Into your pocket, to discharge a reckoning.
37
A kind of Crampe, or Hand-Gout. You shall purge for't.
Ite.
Indeed your worship should doe well to advise him,
To clense his body, all the three high wayes;
That is, by Sweat, Purge, and Phlebotomy.
Rut.
You say well learned Tim, Ile first prescribe him,
To give his purse a purge once, twice a weeke
At Dice, or Cards: And when the weather is open,
Sweat at a bowling Alley, or be let blood
I' the lending veine, and bleed a matter of fifty,
Or threescore ounces at a time. Then put
Your thumbs under your Girdle, and have somebody
Else, pull out your purse for you, till with more ease,
And a good habit, you can doe it your selfe.
And then be sure alwayes to keepe good diet;
And h' your table furnish'd from one end,
Vnto the tother: It is good for the eyes,
But feed you on one dish still, ha' your Diet-drinke,
Ever in Bottles ready, which must come
From the Kings-head: I will prescribe you nothing,
But what Ile take before you mine owne selfe:
That is my course with all my Patients.
Pal.
Very methodicall, Secundum Artem.
Bia.
And very safe pro captu recipientis.
Pol.
All errant learned men, how they spute Latine!
Rut.
I had it of a Jew, and a great Rabbi,
Who every morning cast his cup of White-wine
With sugar, and by the residence i' the bottome,
Would make report of any Chronick malady,
Such as Sir Moath's is, being an oppilation,
In that you call the neck o' the money bladder,
Most anatomicall, and by dissection.
Enter Nurse.
Kee.
O Mr. Doctor, and his Pothecary!
Good Mr. Item, and my Mistris Polish!
Wee need you all above! Shee's falne againe,
In a worse fit then ever.
Pol.
Who?
Kee.
Your charge.
Pol.
Come away Gentlemen.
Int.
This fit with the Doctor,
Hath mended me past expectation.
| The Magnetick Lady :or, Hvmors Reconcil'd | |