Hans. Heer's the Doctor: what a gaping his wisedom keepes i'the streete! As if he could not have spoken all this within.
Doct. Ho, Zaccharee, if de grand patient come, you finde me signior Flores.
Hans. By your leave, maister Doctor.
Doct. Hans, my very speciall friend; fait and trot, me be right glad for see you veale.
Hans. What, do you make a Calfe of me, M. Doctor?
Doct. O no, pardona moy; I say vell, be glad for see you vell, in good health.
Hans. O, but I am sick, M. Doctor; very exceeding sick, sir.
Doct. Sick? tella me, by garr; me cure you presently.
Hans. A dead palsey, M. Doctor, a dead palsey.
Doct. Veare? veare?