Sir _Cred._ The question then is, _Reverentissimi Doctores_, whether--for mark me, I come to the matter in hand, hating long Circumstances of Words; there being no necessity, as our learned Brother _Rabelais_ observes in that most notorious Treatise of his call’d _Garagantua_; there is, says he, no necessity of going over the Hedge when the Path lies fair before ye: therefore, as I said before, I now say again, coming to my Question; for as that admirable _Welch_ Divine says, in that so famous Sermon of his, upon her Creat Cranfather _Hadam_ and her Creat Cranmother _Heeve_ concerning the Happell,--and her will, warrant her, her will keep her to her Text still,--so I stick close to my question, which is, _Illustrissimi Doctores_, whether it be not necessary to the Affair in hand--to take--a Bottle; and if your Doctorships are of my opinion--hold up your Thumbs. [All hold up their Thumbs. --Look, Sir, you observe the Votes of the learned _Cabalists_. Sir _Pat._ Which shall be put in Act forthwith--I like this Man well, he does nothing without mature Deliberation. Enter _Brunswick_. _Brun._ By your leaves, Gentlemen--Sir _Credulous_-- [Whispers. Sir _Cred._ Oh--’tis _Lodwick’s_ Friend, the Rascal’s dress’d like _Vanderbergen_ in the _Strand_:--Sir _Patient_, pray know this glorious Doctor, Sir. Sir _Pat._ A Doctor, Sir? Sir _Cred._ A Doctor, Sir! yes, and as eloquent a Doctor, Sir, as ever set Bill to Post: why, ‘tis--the incomparable--_Brunswick_, _High-Dutch_ Doctor. Sir _Pat._ You’re welcome, Sir,--Pray sit; ah.--Well, Sir, you are come to visit a very crazy sickly Person, Sir. _Brun._ Pray let me feel your Pulse, Sir;--what think you, Gentlemen, is he not very far gone?-- [Feels his Pulse, they all feel. Sir _Cred._ Ah, far, far.--Pray, Sir, have you not a certain wambling Pain in your Stomach, Sir, as it were, Sir, a--a pain, Sir. Sir _Pat._ Oh, very great, Sir, especially in a Morning fasting. Sir _Cred._ I knew it by your stinking Breath, Sir--and are you not troubled with a Pain in your Head, Sir? Sir _Pat._ In my Head, Sir? Sir _Cred._ I mean a--kind of a--Pain,--a kind of a _Vertigo_, as the _Latins_ call it; and a _Whirligigoustiphon_, as the _Greeks_ have it, which signifies in _English_, Sir, a Dizzie-swimming kind--of a do ye see--a thing--that--a--you understand me. Sir _Pat._ Oh, intolerable, intolerable!--why, this is a rare Man! _Fat_ D. Your Reason, Sir, for that? [To Sir _Cred._ Sir _Cred._ My Reason, Sir? why, my Reason, Sir, is this, _Haly_ the _Moore_, and _Rabbi Isaac_, and some thousands more of learned _Dutchmen_, observe your dull Wall Eye and your Whir--_Whirligigoustiphon_, to be inseparable. _Brun._ A most learned Reason! _Fat_ D. Oh, Sir, inseparable. Sir _Cred._ And have you not a kind of a--something--do ye mark me, when you make Water, a kind of a stopping--and--a--do ye conceive me, I have forgot the _English_ Term, Sir, but in Latin ‘tis a _Stronggullionibus_.