Sir Cred. I mean a—kind of a—Pain,—a kind of a Vertigo, as the Latins call it; and a [Whirligigoustiphon], as the Greeks have it, which signifies in English, Sir, a Dizzie-swimming kind—of a do ye see—a thing—that—a—you understand me.
Sir Pat. Oh, intolerable, intolerable!—why, this is a rare Man!
Fat D. Your Reason, Sir, for that? To Sir Cred.
Sir Cred. My Reason, Sir? why, my Reason, Sir, is this, [Haly the Moore, and Rabbi Isaac], and some thousands more of learned Dutchmen, observe your dull Wall Eye and your Whir—Whirligigoustiphon, to be inseparable.
Brun. A most learned Reason!
Fat D. Oh, Sir, inseparable.
Sir Cred. And have you not a kind of a—something—do ye mark me, when you make Water, a kind of a stopping—and—a—do ye conceive me, I have forgot the English Term, Sir, but in Latin ’tis a Stronggullionibus.
Sir Pat. Oh, Sir, most extremely, ’tis that which makes me desperate, Sir.
Sir Cred. Your ugly Face is an infallible Sign; your Dysurie, as the Arabicks call it, and your ill-favour’d Countenance, are constant Relatives.
All. Constant, constant.