Cour. Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy!
Pinch. Give me your hand, and let me feel your pulse.
50 Ant. E. There is my hand, and let it feel your ear. Striking him.
Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, housed within this man,
To yield possession to my holy prayers,
And to thy state of darkness his thee straight:
I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven!
55 Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace! I am not mad.
Adr. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul!
Ant. E. You minion, you, are these your customers?