Foss. Feel his belly, Sir; a great tension and heat of the abdomen—A hearty man, his muscles are torose; how soon are the strongest humbled by diseases! let us retire, and consult.
Enter Sarsnet in haste.
Sars. My mistress approves your design, bear it out bravely, perhaps I shall have a sudden opportunity of conveying you into her bed-chamber, counterfeit a fainting fit and rely upon me.
[Exit.
Underp. As yet I find I am undiscover'd by Plotwell; neither is his intrigue in such forwardness as mine, though he made a fair push for it before me.
[aside.
[Fossile and Plotwell come forward.
Foss. I am entirely for a glister.
Plot. My opinion is for de strong vomit.
Foss. Bleed him.
Plot. Make de searrification, give me de lancet, me will do it myself, and after dat will put de blister to de sole of de feet,
Foss. Your dolor proceeds from a frigid intemperies of the brain, a strong disease! the enemy has invaded the very citadel of your microcosm, the magazine of your vital functions; he has set down before it; yet there seems to be a good garrison of vital spirits, and we don't question to be able to defend it.
Plot. Ve will cannonade de enemy with pills, bombard him wid de bolus, blow him up with volatiles, fill up the trenches wid de large innundation of apozems, and dislodge him wid de stink pot; let de apotecary bring up de artillery of medicine immediately.