Phy. If I bleede I die; sweet Gentlemen, draw no blood.
Accu. How shall wee knowe thou art flesh and blood then?
Grac. Take heede, Accutus, heele blast thee.
Phy. What instance shall I give ye? I am Phylautus,[310] he that must needes confesse, he was drunk in your companies last day; sweet Gentlemen, conceive me aright.
Accut. Why true, true, that we know and[311] those swilling bowels.
Death did arrest thee, many saw thee deade,
Else needles were these rites of funeralls.
And since that time, till now, no breath was knowne
Flye from you; and twentie times the houre-glasse
Hath turned his upside downe; and twenty times,
The nimble current sand hath left his upper roome.
To ly beneath, since sparke of life appeard;
In all which time my care imploide it self
To give the[e] rights of buriall: now, if you live,
Who so glad as I?
Phy. Sir, your love has showne it selfe aboundant, but the cold aire is a meanes to devorce me from your companies: mine host, let me crave passage to my chamber.
Host. Out of my dores, knave; thou enterest not my dores, I have no chalke in my house, my posts shall not be garded with a little sing song, Si nihil attuleris, ibis, Homere, foras.
_Accut. Ha! how now man? see'st now any errors?
Nay, this is nothing; he hath but showne
A patterne of himself, what thou shalt finde
In others; search through the Globe of earth,
If there mongst twentie two thou doost find
Honester then himself ile be buried straight.
Now thinke what shame tis to be vilde,
And how vilde to be drunk: look round! where?
Nay looke up, beholde yon Christall pallace.
There sits an ubiquitarie Judge
From whom arcana nulla abscondita,
That see's all and at pleasure punisheth;
Thou canst not scape scot free, how cans't thou?
Why, sencelesse man in that sinne will betray
His father, brother, nay, himselfe;[312] feares not
To commit the worst of evils, secure if
Thunder-boults should drop from heaven, dreading
Nor heaven, nor hell; indeede his best state
Is worse then least, prised at highest rate.
Ser. This critique is hoarsh [sic], unsaverie, and reproofeful; avoyd him.
Scil. Hee speakes well, but I like not his dispraysing of drunkennes; tis Phisicke to me and it makes me to sleep like a horse with my nose in the manger. Come, sweet heart.