Lucio.
Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation comes.
I have purchas'd as many diseases under her roof,
As come to—

2 Gent.

To what, pray?

Lucio.

Judge.

2 Gent.

To three thousand dollars a year.

1 Gent.

Ay, and more.

Lucio.

A French crown more.

1 Gent.

Thou art always figuring diseases in me; but thou art full of error; I am sound.

Lucio.

Nay, not, as one would say, healthy; but so sound,

as things that are hollow; thy bones are hollow; impiety hath made a feast of thee.

1 Gent.

How now, which of your hips has the most profound sciatica?

Bawd.

Well, well; there's one yonder arrested, and carry'd to prison, was worth five thousand of you all.

1 Gent.

Who's that, I pr'ythee?

Bawd.

Marry Sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio.

1 Gent.

Claudio to prison? 'tis not so.

Bawd.

Nay, but I know 'tis so; I saw him arrested; saw him carry'd away; and which is more, within these three days his head is to be chopt off.

Lucio.

But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so: art thou sure of this?

Bawd.

I am too sure of it; and it is for getting madam Julietta with child.

Lucio.

Believe me this may be; he promised to meet me two hours since, and he was ever precise in promise-keeping.

2 Gent.

Besides, you know it draws something near to the speech we had to such a purpose.

1 Gent.

But most of all agreeing with the proclamation.

Lucio.

Away, let's go learn the truth of it.

Bawd.

Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what with the gallows, and what with poverty, I am custom-shrunk. How now? what's the news with you;