If 't please your lordship; but he 's instantly To take the air here in the gallery By my direction. (PESCARA: Pray thee, what 's his disease?) A very pestilent disease, my lord, They call lycanthropia. (PESCARA: What 's that? I need a dictionary to 't.) I 'll tell you. In those that are possess'd with 't there o'erflows Such melancholy humour they imagine Themselves to be transformed into wolves; Steal forth to church-yards in the dead of night, And dig dead bodies up: as two nights since One met the duke 'bout midnight in a lane Behind Saint Mark's church, with the leg of a man Upon his shoulder; and he howl'd fearfully; Said he was a wolf, only the difference Was, a wolf's skin was hairy on the outside, His on the inside; bade them take their swords, Rip up his flesh, and try. Straight I was sent for, And, having minister'd to him, found his grace Very well recover'd.

Doctor Monologue from The Duchess of Malfi

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