_Alp_. The Marchant I perceive hath trimde you, Doctor.
And comb'd you smoothelie. Faith, I can him thanke
That thus revives our meeting with such mirth.

_Doct_. O be bright de heaven, est a possible! and by heaven I be
revenge dat vile Marshan, me make de medecine drie up de Sea, seaven
towsand, towsand million d'stlloe, fife hundred, hundred dram _Fuffian,
Marquerite, Balestiae, Hematete, Cortemedian, Churchacholl, Pantasite,
Petrofidem, Hynape_, and by garr de hot Pepre; me make de vinde, de
grease collicke puffe, blowe by garr, teare de Sayle, beate de maste,
cracke de Ship in towsand towsand peeces!
_Exit_.

_Alp_. Farewell, gentle Doctor Doddipoll.
And now, deere Ladie, let us celebrate
Our happie royall nuptials and my sonnes
With this our sweete and generall amitie
Which heaven smile on with his goulden eye.


_Finis Actus Quinti & ultimi_.


_Imprinted at London by Thomas Creede, for Richard Olive_,
dwelling in Long-lane. 1600.