Mari. Then I cannot believe you,
When you tell me there's hope of him.
Alber. Yet many Ladies
Do give more faith to their Physitian
Than to their Confessor.
Claris. O my poor lost brother,
And friend more dear than Brother.
Alber. More loud instruments
To disturb his slumbers! goe, goe, take Caroch:
And as you love me, you and the Girle retire
To our Summer house, i'th' Country; I'll be with you
Within these two days.
Maria. I am yours in all things,
Though with much sorrow to leave him. [Exeunt Maria, Claris.
Alber. I pray you Gentlemen,
With best observance tend your Patient;
The loss of my heir-male, lies now a bleeding.
Enter Mentivole.
And think what payment his recovery
Shall show'r upon you,
Of all men breathing; [Exeunt Physitian, Chirur.
Wherefore do you arrive here? Are you mad?
My injury begins to bleed afresh
At sight of you; why this affront of yours
I receive more malitious than the other.
Your hurt was only danger to my son:
But your sight to me is death; Why come you hither?
Do you come to view the wounds, which you have made?
And glory in them?
Menti. Rather worthy Sir, to pour Oyl into them.
Alber. I am a Soldier Sir,
Least part of a Courtier, and understand
By your smooth Oyl,
Your present flattery.