Sir Pat. Ah, ’tis true, though I perceive it not.
Maun. Not perceive it, Sir! put on your Clothes and be convinc’d,—try ’em, Sir. She pulls off his Gown, and puts on his Doublet and Coat, which come not near by a handful or more.
Sir Pat. Ah, it needs not,—mercy upon me!— Falls back.
I’m lost, I’m gone! Oh Man, what art thou but a Flower? I am poison’d, this talking Lady’s Breath’s infectious; methought I felt the Contagion steal into my Heart; send for my Physicians, and if I die I’ll swear she’s my Murderer: oh, see, see, how my trembling increases, oh, hold my Limbs, I die.—
Enter Roger with a magnifying Glass, shews him the Glass; he looks in it.
Rog. I’ll warrant I’ll shew his Face as big as a Bushel. Aside.
Sir Pat. Oh, oh,—I’m a dead Man, have me to Bed, I die away, undress me instantly, send for my Physicians, I’m poison’d, my Bowels burn, I have within an Ætna, my Brains run round, Nature within me reels. They carry him out in a Chair.
Wit. And all the drunken Universe does run on Wheels, ha, ha, ha.
Ah, my dear Creature, how finely thou hast brought him to his Journy’s end!
L. Fan. There was no other way but this to have secur’d my Happiness with thee; there needs no more than that you come anon to the Garden Back-gate, where you shall find admittance;—Sir Patient is like to lie alone to night.