Read it through once

Flam. May these adde to the number y may scald thee: Let moulten Coine be thy damnation, Thou disease of a friend, and not himselfe: Has friendship such a faint and milkie heart, It turnes in lesse then two nights? O you Gods! I feele my Masters passion. This Slaue vnto his Honor, Has my Lords meate in him: Why should it thriue, and turne to Nutriment, When he is turn'd to poyson? O may Diseases onely worke vpon't: And when he's sicke to death, let not that part of Nature Which my Lord payd for, be of any power To expell sicknesse, but prolong his hower. Enter.