Ant. I'll have John Dorrie,
For to that warlike tune I will be open'd:
Give me some drink, have ye stopt the leaks well, Surgeon,
All will run out else?
Surg. Fear not.
Ant. Sit down, Gentlemen:
And now advance your Plaisters. [Song of John Dorrie.
Give 'em ten shillings, friends; how do ye find me?
What symptoms do you see now?
Surg. None, Sir, dangerous;
But if you will be rul'd—
Ant. What time?
Surg. I can cure you
In forty days, if you will not transgress me.
Ant. I have a Dog shall lick me whole in twenty;
In how long canst thou kill me?
Surg. Presently.
Ant. Do it, there's more delight in't.
1 Gent. You must have patience.