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dare swear-- _Lieu_. No believ't, Sir, I never felt it. _Dem_. Here lies the pain now: how he is swel'd? _1 Phy_. The Impostume Fed with a new malignant humour now, Will grow to such a bigness, 'tis incredible, The compass of a Bushel will not hold it. And with such a Hell of torture it will rise too-- _Dem_. Can you endure me touch it? _Lieu_. Oh, I beseech you, Sir: I feel you sensibly ere you come near me. _Dem_. He's finely wrought, he must be cut, no Cure else, And suddenly, you see how fast he blows out. _Lieu_. Good Master Doctors, let me be beholding to you, I feel I cannot last. _2 Phy_. For what _Lieutenant?_ _Lieu_. But ev'n for half a dozen Cans of good Wine, That I may drink my will out: I faint hideously. (men, _Dem_. Fetch him some Wine; and since he must go Gentle--Why let him take his journey merrily. _Enter_ Servant _with Wine._ _Lieu_. That's ev'n the nearest way. _Leo_. I could laugh dead now. _Dem_. Here, off with that. _Lieu_. These two I give your Grace, A poor remembrance of a dying man, Sir, And I beseech you wear 'em out. _Dem_._ I will Souldier, These are fine Legacies. _Lieu_. Among the Gentlemen, Even all I have left; I am a poor man, naked, Yet something for remembra[n]ce: four a piece Gentlemen, And so my body where you please. _Leo_. It will work. _Lieu_. I make your Grace my Executor, and I beseech ye See my poor Will fulfill'd: sure I shall walk else. _Dem_. As full as they can be fill'd, here's my hand, Souldier. _1 Gent_. The Wine will tickle him. _Lieut_. I would hear a Drum beat, But to see how I could endure it. _Dem_. Beat a Drum there. [_Drum within_. _Lieu_. Oh Heavenly Musick, I would hear one sing to't; I am very full of pain. _Dem_. Sing? 'tis impossible. _Lieu_. Why, then I would drink a Drum full: Where lies the Enemy? _2 Gent_. Why, here close by. _Leo_. Now he begins to muster. _Lieu_. And dare he fight? Dare he fight Gentlemen? _1 Phy_. You must not cut him: He's gone then in a moment; all the hope left, is To work his weakness into suddain anger, And make him raise his passion above his pain, And so dispose him on the Enemy; His body then, being stir'd with violence, Will purge it self and break the sore. _Dem_. 'Tis true, Sir. _1 Phy_. And then my life for his. _Lieu_. I will not dye thus. _Dem_. But he is too weak to do-- _Lieu_. Dye like a Dog? _2 Phy_. I, he's w
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