Wiz. (Shakes his fist at Ab.) Macro, acro, sacro, ha, ha, ha.
Hild. This man be mad.
Wiz. Yea, all mad, mad, prayers, fasts, prayers, saints, tinkle, tinkle, all mad, yea, they are all mad, acro, macro, I am the centre, hear me.
Hild. Didst thou bewitch these? (Pointing at Abbot and Monks.)
Wiz. Ha! ha! All swine, all swine.
Hild. Dost thou hear me?
Wiz. Ha, ha, three fat, three lean, one ascragged, antimonium a portion, nutgalls two portions, soak till midnight and go to couch with much fasting. Wouldst thou more?
Ab. Thou seest, Most Holy, he hath a devil. This same did slay three of our brothers with his devil’s antimonium or some such potion.
Wiz. They did desire to be fat. I did but potion them. ’Twere not my fault that they died of over-feeding.
Hild. Antimonium? Where didst thou get thy use for such a potion?