Sir _Pat._ Oh, Sir, most extremely, ‘tis that which makes me desperate, Sir. Sir _Cred._ Your ugly Face is an infallible Sign; your _Dysurie_, as the _Arabicks_ call it, and your ill-favour’d Countenance, are constant Relatives. _All._ Constant, constant. Sir _Cred._ Pray how do you eat, Sir? Sir _Pat._ Ah, Sir, there’s my distraction. Alas, Sir, I have the weakest Stomach--I do not make above four Meals a-day, and then indeed I eat heartily--but alas, what’s that to eating to live?--nothing, Sir, nothing.-- Sir _Cred._ Poor Heart, I pity him. Sir _Pat._ And between Meals, good Wine, Sweet-meats, Caudles,--Cordials and Mirabilises, to keep up my fainting Spirits. Sir _Cred._ A Pox of his Aldermanship: an the whole Bench were such notable Swingers, ‘twould famish the City sooner than a Siege. _Amst._ Brothers, what do you think of this Man? _Leyd._ Think, Sir? I think his Case is desperate. Sir _Cred._ Shaw, Sir, we shall soon rectify the quiblets and quillities of his Blood, if he observes our Directions and Diet, which is to eat but once in four or five days. Sir _Pat._ How, Sir, eat but once in four or five days? such a Diet, Sir, would kill me; alas, Sir, kill me. Sir _Cred._ Oh no, Sir, no; for look ye, Sir, the Case is thus, do you mind me--so that the Business lying so obvious, do ye see, there is a certain Method, do ye mark me--in a--Now, Sir, when a Man goes about to alter the course of Nature,--the case is very plain, you may as well arrest the Chariot of the Sun, or alter the Eclipses of the Moon; for, Sir, this being of another Nature, the Nature of it is to be unnatural, you conceive me, Sir?--therefore we must crave your absence, Sir, for a few Minutes, till we have debated this great Affair. Sir _Pat._ With all my heart, Sir, since my Case is so desperate, a few hours were not too much. [Ex. Sir _Pat._ Sir _Cred._ Now, Sir, my service to you. [Drinks. Enter _Fanny_. _Fan._ Oh living heart! what do all these Men do in our House? sure they are a sort of new-fashion’d Conventiclers:--I’ll hear ‘em preach. [They drink round the while. _Amst._ Sir, my service to you, and to your good Lady, Sir. _Leyd._ Again to you, Sir, not forgetting your Daughters: they are fine Women, Sir, let Scandal do its worst. [Drinks. _Turb._ To our better trading, Sir. _Brun._ Faith, it goes but badly on, I had the weekly Bill, and ‘twas a very thin Mortality; some of the better sort die indeed, that have good round Fees to give. _Turb._ Verily, I have not kill’d above my five or six this Week. _Brun._ How, Sir, kill’d? _Turb._ Kill’d, Sir! ever whilst you live, especially those who have the grand _Verole_; for ‘tis not for a Man’s Credit to let the Patient want an Eye or a Nose, or some other thing. I have kill’d ye my five or six dozen a Week--but times are hard.