SCENE II.

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. To be drest to the tune of Ale only! Nothing but sawces to my sores! 2 Gent. Fie, Antonio, You must be govern'd. Ant. H'as given me a damn'd Clyster, Only of sand and snow water, Gentlemen, Has almost scour'd my guts out. Sur. I have giv'n you that, Sir, Is fittest for your state. Ant. And here he feeds me With rotten ends of Rooks, and drown'd Chickens, Stew'd Pericraniums, and Pia-maters; And when I go to bed (by Heaven 'tis true Gentlemen) He rolls me up in Lints, with Labels at 'em, That I am just the man i'th' Almanack, In Head and Face, is Aries place. Sur. Will't please ye To let your friends see you open'd? Ant. Will't please you, Sir, To let me have a wench? I feel my Body Open enough for that yet. Sur. How, a Wench? Ant. Why look ye, 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. D'ye hear, Surgeon? Send for the Musick, let me have some pleasure To entertain my friends, besides your Sallads, Your green salves, and your searches, and some Wine too, That I may only smell to it; or by this light I'll dye upon thy hand, and spoil thy custome. 1 Gent. Let him have Musick.

Sur. 'Tis in the house, and ready, If he will ask no more but Wine— [Musick. 2 Gent. He shall not drink it. Sur. Will these things please ye? Ant. Yes, and let 'em sing John Dorrie. 2 Gent. 'Tis too long. Ant. I'll have John Dorrie, For to that warlike tune I will be open'd: Give me some drink, have ye stopt the leaks well, Surgeon, All will run out else? Surg. Fear not. Ant. Sit down, Gentlemen: And now advance your Plaisters. [Song of John Dorrie. Give 'em ten shillings, friends; how do ye find me? What symptoms do you see now? Surg. None, Sir, dangerous; But if you will be rul'd— Ant. What time? Surg. I can cure you In forty days, if you will not transgress me. Ant. I have a Dog shall lick me whole in twenty; In how long canst thou kill me? Surg. Presently. Ant. Do it, there's more delight in't. 1 Gent. You must have patience. Ant. Man, I must have business; this foolish fellow Hinders himself; I have a dozen Rascals To hurt within these five days; good man-mender, Stop me with some Parsley, like stuft Beef, And let me walk abroad. Surg. Ye shall walk shortly. Ant. For I must find Petrucchio. 2 Gent. Time enough. 1 Gent. Come, lead him in, and let him sleep: within these three days We'll beg ye leave to play. 2 Gent. And then how things fall, We'll certainly inform ye. Ant. But Surgeon, promise me I shall drink Wine then too. Surg. A little temper'd. Ant. Nay, I'll no tempering, Surgeon. Surg. Well, as't please ye, So ye exceed not. Ant. Farewell: and if ye find The mad Slave that thus slash'd me, commend me to him, And bid him keep his Skin close. 1 Gent. Take your rest, Sir. [Exeunt.