[GUSTUS offers to run at SOMNUS, but being
    suddenly charmed, falls asleep.

SOM.  Here’s such a stir, I never knew the Senses in such disorder.

LIN.  Ha, ha, ha!  Mendacio, Mendacio!  See how Visus hath broke his forehead against the oak yonder, ha, ha, ha!

SOM.  How now? is not Lingua bound sufficiently?  I have more trouble to make one woman sleep than all the world besides; they are so full of tattle.

SCAENA DECIMA QUARTA.

    SOMNUS, CRAPULA, LINGUA, VISUS, GUSTUS, AUDITUS pulling OLFACTUS
    by the nose, and OLFACTUS wringing AUDITUS by the ears.

AUD.  O, mine ears, mine ears, mine ears!

OLF.  O, my nose, my nose, my nose!

CRA.  Leave, leave, at length, these base contentions:  Olfactus, let him go.

OLF.  Let him first loose my nose.

CRA.  Good Auditus, give over.

AUD.  I’ll have his life that sought to kill me.

SOM.  Come, come, I’ll end this quarrel; bind them[310], Crapula.

[They bind them both.

SCAENA DECIMA QUINTA.

TACTUS, with the robe in his hand, SOMNUS,
CRAPULA, LINGUA, GUSTUS, OLFACTUS VISUS, AUDITUS.

TAC.  Thanks, Dejanira, for thy kind remembrance,
’Tis a fair shirt:  I’ll wear it for thy sake.

CRA.  Somnus, here’s Tactus, worse than all his fellows: 
Stay but awhile, and you shall see him rage!

SOM.  What will he do? see that he escapes us not.

TAC.  ’Tis a good shirt:  it fits me passing well: 
’Tis very warm indeed:  but what’s the matter? 
Methinks I am somewhat hotter than I was,
My heart beats faster than ’twas wont to do,
My brain’s inflam’d, my temples ache extremely; O, O! 
O, what a wildfire creeps among my bowels! 
Aetna’s within my breast, my marrow fries,
And runs about my bones; O my sides!  O my sides! 
My sides, my reins:  my head, my reins, my head! 
My heart, my heart:  my liver, my liver, O! 
I burn, I burn, I burn; O, how I burn
With scorching heat of implacable fire! 
I burn extreme with flames insufferable.

SOM.  Sure he doth but try how to act Hercules.

TAC.  Is it this shirt that boils me thus?  O heavens! 
It fires me worse, and heats more furiously
Than Jove’s dire thunderbolts!  O miserable! 
They bide less pain that bathe in Phlegeton! 
Could not the triple kingdom of the world,
Heaven, earth, and hell, destroy great Hercules? 
Could not the damned spite[311] of hateful Juno,
Nor the great dangers of my labours kill me? 
Am I the mighty son of Jupiter,
And shall this poison’d linen thus consume me? 
Shall I be burnt?  Villains, fly up to heaven,
Bid Iris muster up a troop of clouds,