904Imo. Who's there? My woman: Helene?

905La. Please you Madam.

906Imo. What houre is it?

907Lady. Almost midnight, Madam.

908Imo. I haue read three houres then:

909Mine eyes are weake,

910Fold downe the leafe where I haue left: to bed.

911Take not away the Taper, leaue it burning:

912And if thou canst awake by foure o'th' clock,

913I prythee call me: Sleepe hath ceiz'd me wholly.

914To your protection I commend me, Gods,

915From Fayries, and the Tempters of the night,

916Guard me beseech yee. Sleepes.

918Iach. The Crickets sing, and mans ore-labor'd sense

919Repaires it selfe by rest: Our Tarquine thus

920Did softly presse the Rushes, ere he waken'd

921The Chastitie he wounded. Cytherea,

922How brauely thou becom'st thy Bed; fresh Lilly,

923And whiter then the Sheetes: that I might touch,

924But kisse, one kisse. Rubies vnparagon'd,

925How deerely they doo't: 'Tis her breathing that

926Perfumes the Chamber thus: the Flame o'th' Taper

927Bowes toward her, and would vnder-peepe her lids.

928To see th' inclosed Lights, now Canopied

929Vnder these windowes, White and Azure lac'd

930With Blew of Heauens owne tinct. But my designe.

931To note the Chamber, I will write all downe,

932Such, and such pictures: There the window, such

933Th' adornement of her Bed; the Arras, Figures,

934Why such, and such: and the Contents o'th' Story.

935Ah, but some naturall notes about her Body,

936Aboue ten thousand meaner Moueables

937Would testifie, t' enrich mine Inuentorie.

938O sleepe, thou Ape of death, lye dull vpon her,

939And be her Sense but as a Monument,

940Thus in a Chappell lying. Come off, come off;

941As slippery as the Gordian-knot was hard.

942'Tis mine, and this will witnesse outwardly,

943As strongly as the Conscience do's within:

944To'th' madding of her Lord. On her left brest

945A mole Cinque-spotted: Like the Crimson drops

946I'th' bottome of a Cowslippe. Heere's a Voucher,

947Stronger then euer Law could make; this Secret

948Will force him thinke I haue pick'd the lock, and t'ane

949The treasure of her Honour. No more: to what end?

950Why should I write this downe, that's riueted,

951Screw'd to my memorie. She hath bin reading late,

952The Tale of Tereus, heere the leaffe's turn'd downe

953Where Philomele gaue vp. I haue enough,

954To'th' Truncke againe, and shut the spring of it.

955Swift, swift, you Dragons of the night, that dawning

956May beare the Rauens eye: I lodge in feare,

957Though this a heauenly Angell: hell is heere.

959One, two, three: time, time. Exit.