WOOER.
She would have me sing.
DOCTOR.
You did so?
WOOER.
No.
DOCTOR.
Twas very ill done, then;
You should observe her ev'ry way.
WOOER.
Alas,
I have no voice, Sir, to confirme her that way.
DOCTOR.
That's all one, if yee make a noyse;
If she intreate againe, doe any thing,--
Lye with her, if she aske you.
IAILOR.
Hoa, there, Doctor!
DOCTOR.
Yes, in the waie of cure.
IAILOR.
But first, by your leave,
I'th way of honestie.
DOCTOR.
That's but a nicenesse,
Nev'r cast your child away for honestie;
Cure her first this way, then if shee will be honest,
She has the path before her.
IAILOR.
Thanke yee, Doctor.
DOCTOR.
Pray, bring her in,
And let's see how shee is.
IAILOR.
I will, and tell her
Her Palamon staies for her: But, Doctor,
Me thinkes you are i'th wrong still. [Exit Iaylor.]
DOCTOR.
Goe, goe:
You Fathers are fine Fooles: her honesty?
And we should give her physicke till we finde that--
WOOER.
Why, doe you thinke she is not honest, Sir?
DOCTOR.
How old is she?
WOOER.
She's eighteene.
DOCTOR.
She may be,
But that's all one; tis nothing to our purpose.
What ere her Father saies, if you perceave
Her moode inclining that way that I spoke of,
Videlicet, the way of flesh--you have me?
WOOER.
Yet, very well, Sir.
DOCTOR.
Please her appetite,
And doe it home; it cures her, ipso facto,
The mellencholly humour that infects her.
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