Sir _Cred._ Yes, Sir, I at _Padua_; why, what a pox, do ye think I never was beyond Sea? _Brun._ However, Sir, you are the youngest Doctor, and must write. Sir _Cred._ I will not lose an inch of my Dignity. _Fat_ D. Nor I. _Amst._ Nor I. _Leyd._ Nor I. [Put the Paper from each other. _Brun._ Death, what Rascals are these? Sir _Cred._ Give me the Pen--here’s ado about your _Paduas_ and Punctilioes. [Sets himself to write. _Amst._ Every morning a Dose of my Pills _Merda queorusticon_, or the Amicable Pill. Sir _Cred._ Fasting? _Leyd._ Every Hour sixscore drops of _Adminicula Vitæ_. Sir _Cred._ Fasting too? [Sir _Cred._ writes still. _Fat_ D. At Night twelve Cordial Pills, _Gallimofriticus_. _Turb._ Let Blood once a Week, a Glister once a day. _Brun._ Cry Mercy, Sir, you’re a _French_ Man.--After his first Sleep, threescore restorative Pills, call’d _Cheatus Redivivus_. Sir _Cred._ And lastly, fifteen Spoonfuls of my _Aqua Tetrachymagogon_, as often as ‘tis necessary; little or no Breakfast, less Dinner, and go supperless to Bed. _Fat_ D. Hum, your _Aqua Tetrachymagogon_? Sir _Cred._ Yes, Sir, my _Tetrachymagogon_; for look ye, do you see, Sir, I cur’d the Arch-Duke of _Strumbulo_ of a _Gondileero_, of which he dy’d, with this very _Aqua Tetrachymagogon_. Enter Sir _Patient_. Sir _Pat._ Well, Gentlemen, am I not an intruder? _Fat_ D. Sir, we have duly consider’d the state of your Body; and are now about the Order and Method you are to observe. _Brun._ Ay, this Distemper will be the occasion of his Death. Sir _Cred._ Hold, Brothers, I do not say the occasion of his Death; but the occasional Cause of his Death. [Sir _Pat._ reads the Bill. Sir _Pat._ Why, here’s no time allow’d for eating, Gentlemen. _Amst._ Sir, we’ll justify this Prescription to the whole College. _Leyd._ If he will not follow it, let him die. _All._ Ay, let him die. Enter _Lodwick_ and _Leander_. _Lod._ What, have you consulted without me, Gentlemen? [_Lod._ reads the Bill. Sir _Pat._ Yes, Sir, and find it absolutely necessary for my Health, Sir, I shou’d be starv’d: and yet you say I am not sick, Sir. [To _Lean._ _Lod._ Very well, very well. Sir _Pat._ No Breakfast, no Dinner, no Supper? Sir _Cred._ Little or none, but none’s best. Sir _Pat._ But, Gentlemen, consider, no small thing? _All._ Nothing, nothing. Sir _Cred._ Sir, you must write for your Fee. [To _Lod._ _Lod._ Now I think on’t, Sir, you may eat [Writes. a roasted Pippin cold upon a Vine-leaf, at night. _Lean._ Do you see, Sir, what damn’d canting Rascals these Doctors are? Sir _Pat._ Ay, ay, if all Doctors were such, ingenuously, I shou’d soon be weary of Physick. _Lean._ Give ‘em their Fees, Sir, and send ‘em to the Devil for a Company of Cheats. Sir _Pat._ Truth is, there is no faith in ‘em,--well, I thank you for your Care and Pains. [Gives ‘em Fees.