Underp. If I lay a few minutes cover'd up warm in a bed, I believe I might recover.
[Fossile feels his pulse. Plotwell peeps.
Plot. Underplot in disguise! I'll be his doctor, and cure him of these frolicks.
[aside.
Foss. What are your symptoms, Sir? a very tempestuous pulse, I profess!
Underp. Violent head-ach, ah! ah!
Foss. All this proceeds from the fumes of the kitchen, the stomachic digester wants reparation for the better concoction of your aliment: But, Sir, is your pain pungitive, tensive, gravitive, or pulsatory?
Plot. All together, ah!
Foss. Impossible Sir; but I have an eminent physician now in the house, he shall consult. Doctor Lubomirski, here is a person in a most violent cephalalgy, a terrible case!
Enter Plotwell.
Foss. Feel his pulse. [Plotwell feels it.] You feel it, Sir, strong, hard and labouring.
Plot. Great plenitude, Sir.