Ser. An hour ago, Sir.
1 Phys. Bring out the Oyls then.
Fran. Now or never Gentlemen,
Do me a kindness and deliver me.
Tho. From whom boy?
Fra. From these things, that talk within there,
Physicians, Tom, Physicians, scowring-sticks,
They mean to read upon me.
Enter three Phys. Apoth. and Barber.
Hyl. Let 'em enter.
Tho. And be thou confident, we will deliver thee:
For look ye Doctor, say the Devil were sick now,
His horns saw'd off, and his head bound with a Biggin,
Sick of a Calenture, taken by a Surfeit
Of stinking souls at his Nephews, and St Dunstans,
What would you minister upon the sudden?
Your judgment short and sound.
1 Phy. A fools head.