THE IMAGINARY SICK MAN. 261 your master that Doctor Bughumm, late physician to his highness Prince Sackatoo, has called to see him. Ser. Ay, sir; he'll see Doctor Bughumm, and no mistake. (Exit R.) Bur. Now, with the knob of my cane to my nose, thus, I think I may pass muster. Enter FIDGET, R. Sir, your obedient servant. I have the honor of addressing Mr. Frederic Fidget, I believe. Fidget. Why, Burly, is this you? Bur. Sir! Fidg. Excuse me, doctor, but, really, your resemblance to an old friend of mine is very remarkable. Bur. Very probable, sir; I am often mistaken for other people. But look at me well, sir, and tell me what age you take me to be. Fidg. Well, sir, I should think you might be about twentytwo or twenty-three. Bur. Ha, ha! Sir, I was ninety-five last Christmas. Bur. It's as true, sir, as that you are a sick man. Why, sir, you see in me one of the wonderful effects of my art- of my system of practice. Fidg. Upon my word, you are a very young-looking man for ninety-five. Bur. Sir, I am a traveling physician, and pass from city to city, from country to country, in search of distinguished subjects, for whose benefit I may put in practice some of the wonderful secrets I have discovered in medicine. Sir, I disdain to trouble myself with ordinary_maladies—with common fevers, colds, and such bagatelles. I seek such maladies as are pronounced incurable by other physicians: a good desperate case of cholera, or of dropsy-a good plague a good hopeless case of fever or inflammation. It is such cases that I seek, and in such that I triumph; and I only wish, sir, that you had a complication of all these maladies upon you, and were given over by all other physicians, in order that I might show you the excellence of my remedies, and do you a service. (Crosses to R.) Fidg. (L.) Really, sir, I am much obliged for this visit, for I am in a bad way, and the doctors give me no relief. Bur. Sir, let me feel your pulse. (Feels his pulse.) Don't be alarmed, sir. No matter how it beats- the worse the better. Ah! this pulse does n't yet know who has got hold of it. It is a bad pulse- a very bad pulse. Fidg. I was sure of it, doctor, and yet there are those who make light of it. Bur. Who attends you now? Fidg. Doctor Purjum. Bur. His name is n't on my tablets in the list of great physicians. What does he say ails you? Fidg. He says my liver is affected; others say, my spleen. Bur. They are all ignoramuses! The trouble is in your lungs. Fidg. (Very loud.) In my lungs? Bur. Yes, allow me. (Taps him on the breast.) Don't you feel a sort of tenderness- -a pain there? Fidg. Well, doctor, I don't perceive that I do. Bur. Is it possible you don't? (Gives him something of a thump.) Fidg. O! now I do, doctor. You almost doubled me up. Bur. I knew it was the lungs! Fidg. Well, doctor, I don't know but you are right. Is there any other inquiry? Bur. Yes. What are your symptoms? Fidg. An occasional head-ache. Bur. Exactly. The lungs. Fidg. I have now and then a sort of mist before my eyes. Bur. All right. The lungs. limbs. Fidg. I have a sort of a feeling at my heart. abouts. my Bur. No doubt of it. The lungs. You have an appetite for what you eat? Fidg. Yes, doctor. Bur. The lungs. You don't object to a little wine? Fidg. Not at all, doctor. Bur. The lungs. are glad of a nap? Fidg. Yes, doctor. You are a little drowsy after eating, and Bur. The lungs, the lungs, I tell you! What does your phy. sician order for you by way of nourishment? Fidg. He prescribes a plain porridge. Bur. The ignoramus! (Crosses and recrosses.) Fidg. Some chicken. Bur. The ignoramus! Fidg. Now and then, some veal. THE IMAGINARY SICK MAN. 263 Bur. The ignoramus ! Bur. The ignoramus! Fidg. Boiled meats, occasionally. Fidg. Fresh eggs. Bur. The ignoramus! Fidg. And at night some stewed prunes, to keep my bowels in good order. Bur. The ignoramus! Fidg. And, above all, if I take wine, I must take it well diluted with water. Bur. Ignorans, ignorantior, ignorantissimus! Your physician is a blockhead! Throw his physic to the dogs! Throw your wine out of the window. Eat coarse bread, vegetables, fruits as much as you want. Get a trotting-horse. Take plenty of exercise. Fidg. Exercise! Dear doctor, I haven't stirred out of the house for a month. It would be the death of me! Bur. Allow me to be the judge of that. Sir, I haven't been physician in chief to Prince Sackatoo for nothing. I do not mean, sir, that you should do all these things until I have fortified you with some of my medicines. (Takes out vial of homoopathic medicines.) Behold those little glob ́ules! Fidg. Shall I take them all at a dose? Bur. All? Three of them, my dear sir, put under a mountain, would work it from its base! (Gives him three.) Swallow them. Don't be afraid! Should they prove too powerful, I have an antidote at hand. Fidy. (Swallows them.) There is nothing unpleasant in the taste. Bur. No; nor in the effect, you'll find. Don't you begin to feel a thrill, as it were a sort of expansion- a sort of— eh? haven't felt before? you (Slaps him on back.) that Fidg. O! my dear doctor, that was rather hard! But, really, Bur. Let me see you walk. Fidg. (Walks briskly across stage.) There! I haven't walked like that these six weeks. Bur. To be sure you have n't! Now for the trotting-hors! Come with me. I will accompany you. Come on. Fidg. Doctor, the effect is wonderful. Venerable man! Ninety-five, did you say? Bur. Ninety-five and a fraction. But wait till you see me on horseback! (Exeunt, arm in arm, L.) MOLIÈRE (altered). XXVIII. - BRUTUS OVER THE BODY OF LUCRETIA. THUS, thus, my friends, fast as our breaking hearts Would you know why Brutus has summoned you? The mould in which each female grace was formed, Forgot its crutch, labor its task; all ran; And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried, "There, there's Lucretia!" Now look ye where she lies. That beauteous flower, that innocent, sweet rose, Torn up by ruthless violence ! gone, gone! Ask yon deserted street, where Tullia drove SOLILOQUY OF RICHARD III. Go to the tomb of Tarquin's murdered wife, 265 J. H. PAYNE. XXIX. THE USES OF ADVERSITY. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, SHAKSPEARE. XXX.SOLILOQUY OF RICHARD III. WAS ever woman in this humor wooed? I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, With God, her conscience, and these bars, against me, But the plain devil and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! Ha! Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, |