INGEN. I pray, forbear the chamber: noise does hurt her; Her sickness I guess rather of the mind Than of her body, for her pulse beats well; Her vital functions not decay'd a whit, But have their natural life and operation. My lord, be cheer'd, I have an ingredient About me shall make her well, I doubt not. In, master parson: it shall be yours to[139] pray; The soul's physician should have still the way. [_Exit_ INGEN; PARSON _shuts the door_. WID. How cheers she, pray? WIFE. In troth, exceeding ill. MRS SEL. A very weak woman indeed she is, and surely I think cannot 'scape it. HUS. Did you mark how she eyed the physician? WIFE. O God, ay, she is very loth to die. MRS SEL. Ay; that's ne'er the better sign, I can tell you. SUB. And when the parson came to her, she turned Away, and still let the physician hold Her by the hand. BOLD. But see what thought the bridegroom takes. My conscience knows, now, this is A most preposterous match; yet for the commodity, We wink at all inconveniency. My lord! my lord! COUNT. Um, um, um! I beshrew you for waking of me; now shall I have such a fit of coughing, um, um!-- BOLD. O hapless wife, that shall have thee, that either must let thee sleep continually, or be kept waking herself by the cough. WID. You have a proper gentleman to your son, my lord: he were fitter for this young lady than you. WELL. D'ye mark that again? FEE. O sweet widow! COUNT. He a wife! he a fool's head of his own. FEE. No, of my father's. COUNT. What should he do with a ---- um, um! WIFE. What, with a cough? why, he would spit, and that's more than you can do. PROUDLY. Your bride, my lord, is dead. COUNT. Marry, ev'n God be with her; grief will not help it: um, um, um! BRO. A most excellent spouse. PROUDLY. How fares she, master doctor? Zounds! what's here? BOLD, WID., WELL., FEE. Heyday! HUS., WIFE, SEL., MRS SEL., SUB. How now? [_Looking in at the window._ FEE. Look, look! the parson joins the doctor's hand and hers: now the doctor kisses her, by this light! [_Omnes whoop._] Now goes his gown off. Heyday! he has red breeches on. Zounds! the physician is got o' th' top of her: belike, it is the mother she has. Hark! the bed creaks.[140] PROUDLY. 'Sheart, the door's fast! break 'em open! We are betrayed. BRO. No breaking open doors: he that stirs first, [_Draws and holds out a pistol._ I'll pop a leaden pill into his guts, Shall purge him quite away. No haste, good friends: When they have done what's fit, you shall not need To break the door; they'll open it themselves. [_A curtain drawn, a bed discovered:_ INGEN _with his sword in his hand and a pistol: the lady in her petticoat: the_ PARSON.