MAM. 'Fore God, a Bradamante, a brave piece.

SUR. Heart, this is a bawdy-house! I will be burnt else.

MAM. O, by this light, no: do not wrong him. He's
Too scrupulous that way: it is his vice.
No, he's a rare physician, do him right,
An excellent Paracelsian, and has done
Strange cures with mineral physic. He deals all
With spirits, he; he will not hear a word
Of Galen; or his tedious recipes. --
[RE-ENTER FACE.]
How now, Lungs!

FACE. Softly, sir; speak softly. I meant
To have told your worship all. This must not hear.

MAM. No, he will not be "gull'd;" let him alone.

FACE. You are very right, sir, she is a most rare scholar,
And is gone mad with studying Broughton's works.
If you but name a word touching the Hebrew,
She falls into her fit, and will discourse
So learnedly of genealogies,
As you would run mad too, to hear her, sir.

MAM. How might one do t' have conference with her, Lungs?

FACE. O divers have run mad upon the conference:
I do not know, sir. I am sent in haste,