Thom. Thou wast wont to love old women, fat and flat nosed,
And thou would'st say they kiss'd like Flounders, flat
All the face over.
Hyl. I have had such damsels
I must confess.
Thom. Thou hast been a precious Rogue.
Sam. Only his eyes; and o' my Conscience
They lye with half the Kingdom.
[Enter over the Stage, Physicians and others.
Thom. What's the matter?
Whither go all these men-menders, these Physicians?
Whose Dog lies sick o'th' mulligrubs?
Sam. O the Gentleman,
The young smug Seigniour, Master Valentine,
Brought out of travel with him, as I hear,
Is faln sick o'th' sudden, desperate sick,
And likely they go thither.
Thom. Who? young Frank?
The only temper'd spirit, Scholar, Souldier,
Courtier; and all in one piece? 'tis not possible.
Enter Alice.
Sam. There's one can better satisfie you.