+5th Lady.+ Slave! +6th Lady.+ Hell-hound! +Phil.+ Methinks you represent the hemisphere, Because you are enthron'd so high; your eyes Appear like stars to us poor mortals here Below. +1st Lady.+ Villain, if we had thee here, thou Should'st find it hell. +Mir.+ Pray, ladies, what makes you So angry? Methinks the gentleman is Your friend, and has holpt you nearer heaven Than perhaps e'er a one of you would ever Have been. +2d Lady.+ What's that you say, little piss-a-bed? +Mir.+ Sweet angels, will never a one of you Please to descend? +3d Lady.+ Thou little devil, If we had thee here, we'd throw thee down again With such a swing, we'd knock that rascal's brains Out with thy fall. +Mir.+ Then, angry ladies, I Shall stay here--see, has not that lady A very fair nose at this distance? +Phil.+ Has Not t'other there a mouth, that when she opens it To scold, looks like a giant's cave? +4th Lady.+ S'life, we'll Not be abus'd thus; here's a Hercules' statue, Let's throw it down upon their heads. [_+Mirida+ runs away, and meets +Pinguister+ and stops._ _Enter +Pinguister+ and +Doctor+._ +Mir.+ Hold, Philidor, we shall have some new sport Of my making now; here comes my fat lover, Let us stand close and hear a little. +Ping.+ Doctor, Pray, how many stools may I happily have This morning by this purgation, already Taken by me? +Doctor.+ Doubtless, one hundred, sir. +Ping.+ Save me, 'twill swinge my bum-gut then: but how Much fat may it bring away? +Doctor.+ Peradventure, Half-a-dozen pounds. +Ping.+ Love! what dost thou make Me do? But, worthy doctor, from what parts of My continual purg'd body is this store Of fat extracted? +Doctor.+ Chiefly from your waist And calves of your legs. +Ping.+ And how many purges May make my waist and legs' calves, alias, calves Of my legs, delightful to her eye, sir? +Doctor.+ Sir, some ten purges: that is to say, you Must have a thousand stools to drain your treasure Of fat _totaliter_ from ye. +Ping.+ O love! O Mirida, for thee I daily purge: For thee I daily stink. I find I must keep company with the bears, that I May be able to endure my own stink the better. +Doctor.+ Come, sir, I think you had best begin to run Your heats. +Ping.+ O me! nothing cou'd e'er a made A footman of me but love. Well, I must Put on my pumps. +Phil.+ By this light, this is the Pleasantest scene as e'er I saw. +Ping.+ Nay, doctor, If you mean I should run, lend me your hand To help me up. [_Puts on nightcaps._ Now, in the name of love, I most unwillingly start.