Flor. Dear father! what said he?
Sir Sim. That I have a disease of the heart. Now I don't agree with him. There he is mistaken. Why I might die instantly with a disease of the heart. He is a clever man, but quite mistaken there. You see, my heart never beats fast, but when I am agitated, and I was out of breath this morning with the stairs—O dear! [Places his hand to his heart.] Thou dost agitate me, girl—but there is no disease here—no! no! I am very ill—but I shall not die yet!
Flor. Dear father! pray be careful.
Sir Sim. Now, had he said 'twas asthma—'tis a long-lived complaint. I have known very old men with asthma. Our chirurgeon, Master Gilead Stubbs, said I was asthmatic, and we have been much together. Many a good flagon of claret have we drank, and should he not know my constitution?
Basil. Uncle!
Sir Sim. Yes, yes, I know. [To Florence.] Come, thou must marry him. Curse on this physician. I never felt so before. [Places his hand to his heart.]
Flor. Oh, father; do not urge this suit!
Sir Sim. Girl! I will leave thee nought if thou dost not—save my curse!
Flor. No, no!
Sir Sim. All my hopes——'Tis very odd. Stop, stop! I have a pain here, here! Wilt thou promise?