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Scæne 2.
Enter Antonio, a Surgeon, and 2. Gent.1 Gent.
Come sir be hearty: all the worst is past.
Ant.
Give me some Wine.
Sur.
'Tis death Sir.
Ant.
'Tis a horse sir.
'Sbloud, to be drest to the tune of Ale onely,
Nothing but sawces to my sores.
12
Fie Antonio,
You must be govern'd.
Ant.
Has given me a dam'd Glister,
Only of sand and snow water, gentlemen,
Has almost scour'd my guts out.
Surg.
I have giv'n you that sir
Is fittest for your state.
Ant.
And here he seeds me
With rotten ends of rooks, and drown'd chickens,
Stewd Pericraniums, and Pia-maters;
And when I goe to bed, by heaven 'tis true gentlemen,
He rolls me up in Lints, with Labels at 'em,
That I am just the man ith' Almanack,
In head and face, is Aries place.
Surg.
Wilt please ye
To let your friends see ye open'd?
Ant.
Will it please you sir
To let me have a wench: I feele my body
Open enough for that yet?
Surg.
How, a wench?
Ant.
Why look yee gentlemen; thus I am us'd still,
I can get nothing that I want.
1 Gent.
Leave these things,
And let him open ye.
Ant.
De'ye heare Surgeon?
Send for the Musick, let me have some pleasure
To entertaine my friends, beside your Sallads,
Your green salves, and your searches, and some wine too,
That I may onely smell to it: or by this light
Ile dye upon thy hand, and spoyle thy custome.
1 Gen.
Let him have Musick.
Ent. Rowl. with wine.
Surg.
'Tis ith' house, and ready,
If he will aske no more: but wine—
Musick.
2 Gent.
He shall not drink it.
Sur.
Will these things please yee?
Ant.
Yes, and let 'em sing
John Dorrie.
2 Gent.
'Tis too long.
Ant.
Ile have John Dorrie,
For to that warlike tune I will be open'd.
Give me some drinke, have yee stopt the leakes well Surgeon,
All will runne out else?
Surg.
Feare not.
Ant.
Sit downe Gentlemen:
And now advance your plaisters.
Song of Joh. Dorry.
Give 'em ten shillings friends: how doe ye finde me?
What Symptomes doe you see now?
Sur.
None Sir, dangerous:
But if you will be rul'd—
Ant.
What time?
Surg.
I can cure ye
In forty dayes, so you will not transgresse me.
Ant.
I have a dog shall lick me whole in twenty:
In how long canst thou kill me?
Surg.
Presently.
Ant.
Doe it; there's more delight in't.
1 Gent.
You must have patience.
Ant.
Man, I must have busines; this foolish fellow
Hinders himselfe: I have a dozen Rascalls
To hurt within these five dayes: good man mender,
Stop me up with Parsley, like stuft Beefe,
And let me walke abroad.
Surg.
Ye shall walke shortly.
Ant.
For I must finde Petruchio.
2. Gent.
Time enough.
1 Gent.
Come lead him in, and let him sleep: within these three dayes
Wee'll beg yee leave to play.
2 Gent.
And then how things fall,
Wee'll certainly informe yee.
Ant.
But Surgion promise me
I shall drinke Wine then too.
Surg.
A little temper'd.
Ant.
Nay, Ile no tempering Surgion,
Surg.
Well, as't please ye,
So ye exceed not.
Ant.
Farewell: and if ye finde
The Mad slave, that thus slasht me, commend me to him,
And bid him keep his skin close.
1 Gent.
Take your rest sir.
Exeunt.
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