MAR. Good, good! how fortune gluts me with excess! Still they that have enough shall meet with more. CLIN. But where's the doctor? MAR. Ministering abroad Physic to some sick patients he retains. CLIN. Let him abroad, I'll minister at home Such physic shall content my Marian. CAS. O monstrous! now the world must see my shame. This head must bear whatever likes[461] my dame. [_Aside_.] MAR. I have no malady requires a cure. CLIN. Why, then, must I assume a sick man's part And all my sickness lieth at my heart? 'Tis the heart-burning that torments me so. MAR. There is no cure for fire but to be quench'd. CLIN. Thou hast prescrib'd a sovereign remedy. CAS. O, who the devil made her a physician? [_Aside_.] CLIN. Let's not obscure what love doth manifest; Nor let a stranger's bed make thee seem strange To him that ever lov'd and honour'd thee. MAR. A captain made a captive by loose love And gadding fancy! fie, 'twere monstrous shame That Cupid's bow should blemish Mars's name: Take up thy arms, recall thy drooping thoughts, And lead thy troops into the spacious fields. CAS. She counsels others well, if she would take it. [_Aside_.] CLIN. Thou counsellest the blind to lead the blind. Can I lead them that cannot guide myself? Thou, Marian, must release my captive heart. MAR. With all my heart I grant thee free release. CLIN. Thou art obscure too much: but tell me, love, Shall I obtain my long-desired love? MAR. Captain, there is yet somewhat in thy mind Thou wouldst reveal, but wantest utterance. Thou better knowest to front the braving foe, Than plead love-suits. CLIN. I grant 'tis even so; Extremity of passions still are dumb, No tongue can tell love's chief perfections: Persuade thyself my love-sick thoughts are thine; Thou only may'st those drooping thoughts refine. MAR. Since at my hands thou seek'st a remedy, I'll ease thy grief, and cure thy malady. No drug the doctor hath shall be too dear; His antidote shall fly to do thee good. Come in, and let thy eye make choice for thee, That thou may'st know how dear thou art to me. [_Exeunt_ CLINTON, MARIAN. CAS. Is this obedience? now the devil go with them! And yet I dare not; O, she's mankind grown![462] O miserable men that must live so, And damned strumpet,[463] author of this woe! _Enter_ CLINTON, MARIAN. But peace! be still! they come. O shameless shame! Well may the world call thee the devil's dame. MAR. Captain, thy skill hath pleased me so well, That I have vow'd my service to Bellona. CAS. Her service to Bellona! turn'd stark ruffian! She'll be call'd Cavaliero Marian. [_Aside_.] CLIN. And I will train thee up in feats of arms, And teach thee all the orders of the field; That whilst we, like to Mars and Venus, jest, The doctor's head may get a gallant crest.