Sir J. Wor. Fetch officers!
Capt. Pouts. Go fetch a surgeon.
Strange. Sir, you are then too violent. I will bail her.
[Discovers himself.
Kath. O my dear Strange!
Sir J. Wor. My son!
Scud., Luc., Bel. Brother!
Omnes. Young Strange!
Capt. Pouts. Heart! I was never sick before: help me now to a surgeon, or I shall swoon instantly.
[As two lead him, he speaks.
Thou wert born a woman-citizen; fare thee well.
And farewell, love and women, ye diseases:
My horse and sword shall be my mistresses,
My horse I'll court, my sword shall lie with me.
[Exit.