Hostis. Gossip, faith ile use a little of your counsel, but my husband is so fat, I feare I shall never bring him to it.
Grac. Now, gentles, you that can, prepare a few teares to shed, for now enters a sad sceane of sorrowe.
Enter Fryer and Course.
Fryer. Man is flesh and flesh is fraile,
The strongest man at length must faile;
Man is flesh and flesh is grasse;
Consuming time, as in a glasse,
Now is up and now is downe
And is not purchast by a Crowne;
Now seede, and now we are sowen,
Now we wither, now are mowen;
Frater noster heere doth lye,
In paupertate he did die,
And now is gone his viam longam
That leades unto his requiem aeternam;
But dying needie, poore and bare,
Wanting to discharge the Fryer,
Unto his grave hee's like to passe
Having neither Dirge nor Masse:
So set forward, let him goe,
Et benedicamus Domino.
Phy. And then to Apollo hollo, trees, hollo.—Tapster a few more cloathes to my feete.
Omnes. Oh heavens!
Acut. Gentles, keep your places, feare nothing; in the name of God, what art thou?
Phy. My Hearse and winding-sheete! what meanes this? why, Gentles, I am a living man.
Acut. Spirit, thou ly'st; thou deludest us.
Citty wife. Conjure him, Fryer.