Label. What of that?
Gil. Nothing, only if ever you had any patients, I thought you might have felt some qualms in taking that road.
Label. Ever had any patients, I’ll whisper a secret in your ear; I’ve had one in this house! Now what do you think of that? What follows now?
Gil. What follows now? why the grave-digger, I’m afraid; I say, I wonder you didn’t add the trade of undertaker to that of doctor.
Label. Why?
Gil. Why! how nicely you could make one business play into the other: when called in to a patient, as soon as you had prescribed for him, you know, you might have begun to measure him for his coffin.
Label. Ah, you’re a droll fellow, but we won’t quarrel; I dare say you think me very dull now, but bless you I’m not, when I’m roused I can be devilish droll—very witty indeed.
Gil. Aye, your wit is, I suppose, like your medicine—it must be well shaken before it’s fit to be administered; now how many of your jokes generally go to a dose?
Label. No, no, it won’t do, I’m not to be drawn out now—I’ve no time to be comical, I must away for Dover this instant.
Gil. A word with you, the sharks are out to-night.