2 Phys. Wilt please your Highnesse then to take this Cordiall? Gold never truely did you good till now.
King. 'Tis gone.
2 Phys. My Lord, it was the perfectst tincture
Of Gold that ever any Art produc'd:
With it was mixt a true rare Quintessence
Extracted out of Orientall Bezar,[158]
And with it was dissolv'd the Magisteriall
Made of the Horne Armenia so much boast of;
Which, though dull Death had usurp't Natures right,
Is able to create new life agen.
King. Why does it good on men and not on Kings?
We have the selfe-same passages for Nature
With mortall men; our pulses beate like theirs:
We are subiect unto passions as they are.
I finde it now, but to my griefe I finde,
Life stands not with us on such ticklish points,
What is't, because we are Kings, Life takes it leave
With greater state? No, no; the envious Gods
Maligne our happinesse. Oh that my breath had power
With my last words to blast their Deities.
1 Phys. The Cordiall that you tooke requires rest: For healths sake, good my Lord, repose your selfe.
King. Yes, any thing for health; draw round the Curtaines.
Dami. Wee'le watch by him whilst you two doe consult.
1 Phys. What guesse you by that Urine?
2 Phys. Surely Death!
1 Phys. Death certaine, without contradiction,
For though the Urin be a whore and lies,
Yet where I finde her in all parts agree
With other Symtomes of apparent death
Ile give her faith. Pray, Sir, doe but marke
These black Hypostacies;[159] it plainely shewes
Mortification generally through the spirits;
And you may finde the Pulse to shew as much
By his uncertainty of time and strength.