What? is he readie?
Do. Alas, hee's almost dead.
Ri. How? dead?
Do. He has been troubled with a fitt o'th stone, Sir, all this night. Sweet gentleman he groanes, And sweates, and cannot—
Ri. What?
Do. Make urine, Sir.
Tho. I heard my Ladie has an excellent Receit to cure the Stone; she is a peece Of a rare Surgeon.
Ri. Well, away and get the horses readie, sirra, For I shall ride you and your witt together.
Tho. Alas, any foole may ride me, but I would faine see any man ride Mistres Dorothy.
Do. How, sirra?
[Exit Thomas.