Fopdoodle [fainting].
Give me a drink of tiger’s blood!
Bluegrass [to Whetstone].
See, you have struck him; he is falling.
[Fopdoodle falls, clasping his dictionary.
Scythe [to Tom].
Run quickly. Catch me a sheep in yonder field. By transfusing blood from its veins to his, I’ll make the weak brave, the faint alive. [Taking up a surgical instrument.] Now, great Science, help me!
Tom.
Good master, I go to get the sheep.
[Exit Tom.