Sir Cred. Pray how do you eat, Sir?
Sir Pat. Ah, Sir, there’s my distraction. Alas, Sir, I have the weakest Stomach—I do not make above four Meals a-day, and then indeed I eat heartily—but alas, what’s that to eating to live?—nothing, Sir, nothing.—
Sir Cred. Poor Heart, I pity him.
Sir Pat. And between Meals, good Wine, Sweet-meats, Caudles,—Cordials and Mirabilises, to keep up my fainting Spirits.
Sir Cred. A Pox of his Aldermanship: an the whole Bench were such notable Swingers, ’twould famish the City sooner than a Siege.
Amst. Brothers, what do you think of this Man?
Leyd. Think, Sir? I think his Case is desperate.
Sir Cred. Shaw, Sir, we shall soon rectify the quiblets and quillities of his Blood, if he observes our Directions and Diet, which is to eat but once in four or five days.
Sir Pat. How, Sir, eat but once in four or five days? such a Diet, Sir, would kill me; alas, Sir, kill me.
Sir Cred. Oh no, Sir, no; for look ye, Sir, the Case is thus, do you mind me—so that the Business lying so obvious, do ye see, there is a certain Method, do ye mark me—in a—Now, Sir, when a Man goes about to alter the course of Nature,—the case is very plain, you may as well arrest the Chariot of the Sun, or alter the Eclipses of the Moon; for, Sir, this being of another Nature, the Nature of it is to be unnatural, you conceive me, Sir?—therefore we must crave your absence, Sir, for a few Minutes, till we have debated this great Affair.