I’ve sore throat, Papa!
Pol.—
These singer’s ailment all lie in their throats!
Stick some “Pulmonic Wafers” on your notes.
Now to the Palace, for the king must know
This news of Hamlet.
Oph.—
Yet, before you go—
For dear Mama, myself, and sex combin’d,
I’ll quote some verses just recall’d to mind: