Fathers own son a comedy formerly acted at the private house in Black Fryers, and now at the Theatre in Vere-Street by His Majesties servants / the author John Fletcher, Gent.

Scaena Tertia.

Enter three Physitians with an Vrinall.

1 Phis.

A Plurisie. I see it.

2

I rather hold it For treinor cordi••.

3

Doe you marke the Pheses? 'Tis a most pestilent contagious feaver, A surfet, a plaguy surfet: he must bleed.

1

By no meanes.

3

I say bleed.

1

I say 'tis dangerous: The person being spent so much before hand, And nature drawne so low, cly••ters, coole clysters.

2

Now with your favour••, I should think a vomi••: For take away the cause, the effect must follow, The stomack's foule and fur'd, the pot's unflam'd yet.

3

No, no, wee'l rectifie that part by milde meane••, Nature so sunke, must finde no violence.

Enter a Servant.

S••r.

Wilt please ye draw neere? the weake gentleman Growes worse and worse still.

1

Come, we will att••nd him.

2

He shall doe well my friend.

Ser.

My master•• love ••••r.

1

Excellent well I warrant thee, right and straight friend.

3

Ther's no doubt in him, non•• at all, nev'r f••••t•• him.

Exeunt.