OLF.  See the strange working of dull melancholy! 
Whose drossy thoughts, drying the feeble brain,
Corrupts the sense, deludes the intellect,
And in the soul’s fair table falsely graves
Whole squadrons of fantastical chimeras
And thousand vain imaginations,
Making some think their heads as big as horses,
Some that th’are dead[188], some that th’are turn’d to wolves[189],
As now it makes him think himself all glass. 
Tactus, dissuade thyself; thou dost but think so.

TAC.  Olfactus, if thou lov’st me, get thee gone;
I am an urinal, I dare not stir
For fear of cracking in the bottom.

OLF.  Wilt thou sit thus all day?

TAC.  Unless thou help me.

OLF.  Bedlam must help thee.  What wouldst have me do?

TAC.  Go to the city, make a case for me;
Stuff it with wool, then come again and fetch me.

OLF.  Ha, ha, ha! 
Thou’lt be laughed out of case and countenance.

TAC.  I care not.  So it must be, or I cannot stir.

OLF.  I had best leave troubling him; he’s obstinate.  Urinal, I leave you, but above all things take heed Jupiter sees you not; for, if he do, he’ll ne’er make water in a sieve again; thou’lt serve his turn so fit, to carry his water unto Esculapius.  Farewell, Urinal, farewell.
          
                                               [Exit OLFACTUS.

TAC.  Speak not so loud; the sound’s enough to crack me.  What, is he gone?  I an urinal! ha, ha, ha!  I protest I might have had my face washed finely if he had meant to abuse me.  I an urinal! ha, ha, ha!  Go to, Urinal; you have ’scaped a fair scouring.  Well, I’ll away, and get me to mine own house; there I’ll lock up myself fast, playing the chemic, Augmenting this one crown to troops of angels, With which gold-winged messengers I mean To work great wonders, as to build and purchase; Fare daintily; tie up men’s tongues and loose them; Command their lives, their goods, their liberties, And captive all the world with chains of gold.  Hey, hey, tery, linkum tinkum.
              [He offers to go out, but comes in suddenly amazed. 
O Hercules!  Fortune, the queen, delights to play with me, Stopping my passage with the sight of Visus:  But as he makes hither, I’ll make hence, There’s more ways to the wood than one[190].  What, more devils to affright me?  O Diabolo!  Gustus comes here to vex me.  So that I, poor wretch, am like A shuttlecock betwixt two battledoors.  If I run there, Visus beats me to Scylla;
If here, then Gustus blows me to Charybdis.  Neptune hath sworn my hope shall suffer shipwreck.  What shall I say? mine Urinal’s too thin To bide the fury of such storms as these.

SCAENA OCTAVA.

VISUS in a garland of bays, mixed with white and red roses, a light-coloured taffeta mantle striped with silver, and fringed upon green silk bases, buskins, &c.  GUSTUS in the same fashion, differing only in colour.  TACTUS in a corner of the stage.

    VISUS, GUSTUS, TACTUS.