dare swear--

_Lieu_. No believ't, Sir,
I never felt it.

_Dem_. Here lies the pain now: how he is swel'd?

_1 Phy_. The Impostume
Fed with a new malignant humour now,
Will grow to such a bigness, 'tis incredible,
The compass of a Bushel will not hold it.
And with such a Hell of torture it will rise too--

_Dem_. Can you endure me touch it?

_Lieu_. Oh, I beseech you, Sir:
I feel you sensibly ere you come near me.

_Dem_. He's finely wrought, he must be cut, no Cure else,
And suddenly, you see how fast he blows out.

_Lieu_. Good Master Doctors, let me be beholding to you,
I feel I cannot last.

_2 Phy_. For what _Lieutenant?_

_Lieu_. But ev'n for half a dozen Cans of good Wine,
That I may drink my will out: I faint hideously. (men,

_Dem_. Fetch him some Wine; and since he must go Gentle--Why
let him take his journey merrily.

_Enter_ Servant _with Wine._

_Lieu_. That's ev'n the nearest way.

_Leo_. I could laugh dead now.

_Dem_. Here, off with that.

_Lieu_. These two I give your Grace,
A poor remembrance of a dying man, Sir,
And I beseech you wear 'em out.

_Dem_._ I will Souldier,
These are fine Legacies.

_Lieu_. Among the Gentlemen,
Even all I have left; I am a poor man, naked,
Yet something for remembra[n]ce: four a piece Gentlemen,
And so my body where you please.

_Leo_. It will work.

_Lieu_. I make your Grace my Executor, and I beseech ye
See my poor Will fulfill'd: sure I shall walk else.

_Dem_. As full as they can be fill'd, here's my hand, Souldier.

_1 Gent_. The Wine will tickle him.

_Lieut_. I would hear a Drum beat,
But to see how I could endure it.

_Dem_. Beat a Drum there. [_Drum within_.

_Lieu_. Oh Heavenly Musick, I would hear one sing to't;
I am very full of pain.

_Dem_. Sing? 'tis impossible.

_Lieu_. Why, then I would drink a Drum full:
Where lies the Enemy?

_2 Gent_. Why, here close by.

_Leo_. Now he begins to muster.

_Lieu_. And dare he fight?
Dare he fight Gentlemen?

_1 Phy_. You must not cut him:
He's gone then in a moment; all the hope left, is
To work his weakness into suddain anger,
And make him raise his passion above his pain,
And so dispose him on the Enemy;
His body then, being stir'd with violence,
Will purge it self and break the sore.

_Dem_. 'Tis true, Sir.

_1 Phy_. And then my life for his.

_Lieu_. I will not dye thus.

_Dem_. But he is too weak to do--

_Lieu_. Dye like a Dog?

_2 Phy_. I, he's w