_Fos._ Dr. Nautilus is an infirm tender gentleman; I wish the sudden concussion of his animal spirits may not kindle him into a fever. I myself, I must confess, have an extreme palpitation. _Clink._ Dear uncle, be pacified. We are both of us the votaries of our great master Appollo. To you he has assign'd the art of healing: Me he has taught to sing; why then should we jangle in our kindred faculties? _Fos._ Appollo, for ought I know, may be a very fine person; but this I am very sure of, that the skill he has given all his physicians is not sufficient to cure the madness of his poets. _Pos._ Hark ye, brother Fossile? Your Crocodile has proved a human creature, I wish your wife may not prove a crocodile. _Naut._ Hark ye, brother Fossile! Your mummy, as you were saying, seemeth to be hot in the first degree, and is powerful in some diseases of women. [_Exit Nautilus and Possum._ _Fos._ You diabolical performers of my niece's masquerade, will it please you to follow those gentlemen? _Clink._ Nay, Sir, you shall see them dance first. _Fos._ Dance! the devil! bring me hither a spit, a fire-fork, I'll try whether the monsters are impenetrable or no. _Plotw._ I hope, Sir, you will not expose us to the fury of the mob, since we came here upon so courteous a design. _Foss._ Good courteous Mr. Mummy, without more ceremony, will it please you to retire to your subterraneous habitation. And you Mr. Crocodile, about your business this moment, or you shall change your Nile for the next horse-pond. _Clink._ Spare my masqueraders. _Underp._ Let it never be said that the famous Dr. Fossile, so renowned for his charity to monsters, should violate the laws of hospitality, and turn a poor alligator naked into the street. _Foss._ Deposite your _exuviæ_ then, and assume your human shape. _Underp._ For that I must beg your excuse. A gentleman would not chuse to be known in these frolicks. _Foss._ Then out of my doors, here footman, out with him; out, thou hypocrite, of an alligator. [_Underplot is turn'd out._ Sir, the respect I have for catacombs and pyramids, will not protect you. [_A noise of mob within._ Enter PRUE. _Prue._ Sir, Sir, lock your doors, or else all your monsters will run home again to the Indies. Your crocodile yonder has made his escape; if he get but to Somerset water-gate, he is gone for ever. [_Exit Prue._ Enter a Footman. _Foot._ The herbwoman swore she knew him to be the devil, for she had met him one dark night in St. Pulchre's church-yard; then the monster call'd a coach, methought with the voice of a christian; but a sailor that came by said he might be a crocodile for all that, for crocodiles could cry like children, and was for killing him outright, for they were good to eat in Egypt, but the constable cry'd take him alive, for what if he be an Egyptian, he is still the king's subject. _Ex. footman._ [_A noise of mob within._ Enter PRUE