1 Phy. Bring in the Lettice Cap; you must be shaved, Sir,
And then how suddenly we'll make you sleep!
Frank. Till dooms-day: what unnecessary nothings
Are these about a wounded mind?
2 Phy. How do ye?
Fra. What questions they propound too! how do you, Sir?
I am glad to see you well.
3 Phy. A great distemper, it grows hotter still.
1 Phy. Open your mouth, I pray, Sir.
Frank. And can you tell me
How old I am then? there's my hand, pray shew me
How many broken shins within this two year.
Who would be thus in fetters, good master Doctor,
And you dear Doctor, and the third sweet Doctor,
And precious master Apothecary, I do pray ye
To give me leave to live a little longer,
Ye stand before me like my Blacks.
2 Phy. 'Tis dangerous,
For now his fancy turns too.
Enter Cellide.
Cell. By your leave Gentlemen:
And pray ye your leave a while too, I have something
Of secret to impart unto the Patient.