LADY P: Believe me, and I
Had the most fearful dream, could I remember't--
VOLP [ASIDE.]: Out on my fate! I have given her the occasion
How to torment me: she will tell me hers.
LADY P: Me thought, the golden mediocrity,
Polite and delicate--
VOLP: O, if you do love me,
No more; I sweat, and suffer, at the mention
Of any dream: feel, how I tremble yet.
LADY P: Alas, good soul! the passion of the heart.
Seed-pearl were good now, boil'd with syrup of apples,
Tincture of gold, and coral, citron-pills,
Your elicampane root, myrobalanes--
VOLP [ASIDE.]: Ah me, I have ta'en a grass-hopper by the wing!
LADY P: Burnt silk, and amber: you have muscadel
Good in the house--
VOLP: You will not drink, and part?
LADY P: No, fear not that. I doubt, we shall not get
Some English saffron, half a dram would serve;
Your sixteen cloves, a little musk, dried mints,
Bugloss, and barley-meal--
VOLP [ASIDE.]: She's in again!
Before I fain'd diseases, now I have one.
LADY P: And these applied with a right scarlet cloth.
VOLP [ASIDE.]: Another flood of words! a very torrent!
LADY P: Shall I, sir, make you a poultice?
VOLP: No, no, no;
I am very well: you need prescribe no more.
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