Sir _Pat._ My Face! why, what ails my Face? hah!

L. _Fan._ See, Mr. _Fainlove_, oh, look on my Dear, is he not strangely
alter'd?

_Wit._ Most wonderfully.

Sir _Pat._ Alter'd, hah--why, where, why, how alter'd?--hah, alter'd say
you?

_Wit._ Lord, how wildly he stares!

Sir _Pat._ Hah, stare wildly!

_Rog._ Are you not very sick, Sir?

L. _Fan._ Sick! oh, Heavens forbid!--How does my dearest Love?

Sir _Pat._ Methinks I feel myself not well o'th' sudden--ah--a kind of
shivering seizes all my Limbs,--and am I so much chang'd?

_Wit._ All over, Sir, as big again as you were.

L. _Fan._ Your Face is frightfully blown up, and your dear Eyes just
starting from your Head; oh, I shall sound with the apprehension on't.
[Falls into _Wittmore's_ Arms.

Sir _Pat._ My Head and Eyes so big, say you: oh, I'm wondrous sick o'th'
sudden,--all over say you--oh, oh--Ay, I perceive it now, my Senses fail
me too.

L. _Fan._ How, Sir, your Senses fail you?

_Wit._ That's a very bad sign, believe me.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, ay, for I can neither feel nor see this mighty growth you
speak of.
[Falls into a Chair, with great signs of Disorder.

_Wit._ Alas, I'm sorry for that, Sir.

_Rog._ Sure, 'tis impossible, I'll run and fetch a Glass, Sir.
[Offers to go.

L. _Fan._ Oh, stay, I wou'd not for the world he should see what a
Monster he is,--and is like to be before to morrow.
[Aside.

_Rog._ I'll fit him with a Glass,--I'll warrant ye, it shall advance our
Design.
[Exit _Roger_.

Enter _Maundy_ with the Clothes, she starts.

_Maun._ Good Heaven, what ails you, Sir?

Sir _Pat._ Oh--oh--'tis so.

_Maun._ Lord, how he's swoln! see how his Stomach struts.

Sir _Pat._ Ah, 'tis true, though I perceive it not.

_Maun._ Not perceive it, Sir! put on your Clothes and be convinc'd,--try
'em, Sir.
[She pulls off his Gown, and puts on his Doublet and Coat, which
come not near by a handful or more.

Sir _Pat._ Ah, it needs not,--mercy upon me!-- [Falls back.
I'm lost, I'm gone! Oh Man, what art thou but a Flower? I am poison'd,
this talking Lady's Breath's infectious; methought I felt the Contagion
steal into my Heart; send for my Physicians, and if I die I'll swear
she's my Murderer: oh, see, see, how my trembling increases, oh, hold my
Limbs, I die.--

Enter _Roger_ with a magnifying Glass, shews him the Glass; he
looks in it.

_Rog._ I'll warrant I'll shew his Face as big as