_Val._ All that may be: It shall be no blind wedding: and all the joy Of all our friends I hope: he looks worse hourly, How does my friend, my self? he sweats too coldly, His pulse, like the slow dropping of a spowt, Scarce gives his function: how is't man, alas Sir, You look extreme ill: is it any old grief, The weight of which? _Fra._ None, gentle Sir, that I feel, Your love is too too tender, Nay believe Sir. _Cel._ You cannot be the master of your health, Either some feaver lyes in wait to catch ye, Whose harbinger's already in your face We see preparing: or some discontent, Which if it lye in this house, I dare say Both for this noble Gentleman, and all That live within it, shall as readily Be purg'd away, and with as much care soften'd, And where the cause is. _Fran._ 'Tis a joy to be ill, Where such a vertuous fair Physitian Is ready to relieve: your noble cares I must, and ever shall be thankfull for, And would my service (I dare not look upon her) But be not fearfull, I feel nothing dangerous, A grudging caus'd by th' alteration Of air, may hang upon me: my heart's whole, (I would it were.) _Val._ I knew the cause to be so. _Fra._ No, you shall never know it. _Alice._ Some warm broths To purge the bloud, and keep your bed a day Sir, And sweat it out. _Cel._ I have such cordials, That if you will but promise me to take 'em, Indeed you shall be well, and very quickly, I'le be your Doctor, you shall see how finely I'le fetch ye up again. _Val._ He sweats extreamly: Hot, very hot: his pulse beats like a drum now, Feel Sister, feel, feel sweet. _Fra._ How that touch stung me! _Val._ My gown there. _Cel._ And those julips in the window. _Alice._ Some see his bed made. _Val._ This is most unhappy, Take courage man, 'tis nothing but an ague. _Cel._ And this shall be the last fit. _Fra._ Not by thousands: Now what 'tis to be truly miserable, I feel at full experience. _Alice._ He grows fainter. _Val._ Come, lead him in, he shall to bed: a vomit, I'le have a vomit for him. _Alice._ A purge first, And if he breath'd a vein. _Val._ No, no, no bleeding, A Clyster will cool all. _Cel._ Be of good cheer Sir. _Alice._ He's loth to speak. _Cel._ How hard he holds my hand aunt! _Alice._ I do not like that sign. _Val._ Away to's chamber, Softly, he's full of pain, be diligent With all the care ye have: would I had scus'd him. [_Exeunt._ SCENE II. _Enter_ Dorothea, _and_ Thomas.