Cel. Dye like a fool unsorrow'd,
A bankrupt fool, that flings away his Treasure;
I must begin my cure.
Val. And I my Crosses. [Exeunt.
[Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.]
Enter Frank sick, Physicians, and an Apothecary.
1 Phy. Clap on the Cataplasm.
Frank. Good Gentlemen,
Good learned Gentlemen.
2 Phy. And see these broths there,
Ready within this hour, pray keep your arms in,
The air is raw, and ministers much evil.
Fran. 'Pray leave me; I beseech ye leave me, Gentlemen,
I have no other sickness but your presence,
Convey your Cataplasms to those that need 'em,
Your Vomits, and your Clysters.
3 Phy. Pray be rul'd, Sir.