Alb. What? art thou heere? sweete Clio, come, be bright; Take me thy Timbrell and Tobaccho pipe, And give Hyanthe musicke at her windowe.
Doct. Garrs blurr, my cap, my cap, cost me de deale a French crowne.
Alb. But I will crown thee with a cod of Muske, Instead of Lawrell, and a Pomander[61]: But thou must write Acrostignues first, my girle.
Doct. Garzowne, what a pox do you stand heere for, de grand poltrone pezant, and see de Doctor be dus?
Alb. Aye me, what Demon was it guide me thus?
This is Melpomene, that Scottish witch[62],
Whom I will scratche like to some villanous gibb,
And—
Doct. O Garzowne, la diabole, la pestilence, gars blur!
Alp. Lay holde upon him, helpe the Doctor there!
Alb. Then reason's fled to animals, I see, And I will vanish like Tobaccho smoake. Exit.
Doct. A grand pestilence a dis furie
Alp. Follow him, sirs, Leander, good Leander! But, Doctor, canst thou tell us the true cause Of this suddaine frenzie?