Sganarelle. Physician yourself; I am not one, and I have never been one.

Valère (aside). Now the fit is on him. (Aloud). Sir, do not deny things any longer, and do not, if you please, make us have recourse to unpleasant extremities.

Sganarelle. Have recourse to what?

Valère. To certain things that we should be sorry for.

Sganarelle. Zounds! Have recourse to whatever you like. I am not a physician, and do not understand what you mean.

Valère (aside). Well, I perceive that we shall have to apply the remedy. (Aloud.) Once more, Sir, I pray you to confess what you are.

Lucas. Odds-bobs, do not talk any more nonsense; and confess plainly that you are a physician.

Sganarelle (aside). I am getting in a rage.

Valère. What is the good of denying what all the world knows?

Lucas. Why all these funny falsehoods? What is the good of it?

Sganarelle. One word is as good as a thousand, gentlemen. I tell you that I am not a physician.

Valère. You are not a physician?

Sganarelle. No.

Lucas. You are not a physician?

Sganarelle. No, I tell you.

Valère. Since you will have it so, we must make up our minds to do it. (They each take a stick, and thrash him.)

Sganarelle. Hold! hold! hold, gentlemen! I will be anything you like.

Valère. Why, Sir, do you oblige us to use this violence?

Lucas. Why do you make us take the trouble of giving you a beating?

Valère. I assure you that I regret it with all my heart.

Lucas. Upon my word I am sorry for it too.

Sganarelle. What the devil does it all mean, gentlemen? For pity’s sake, is it a joke, or are you both gone out of your minds, to wish to make me out a physician?

Valère. What! you do not give in yet, and you still deny being a physician?

Sganarelle. The devil take me if I am one!

Lucas. Are you not a physician?