Ri.  If shee be a sleepe she was not us’d to talke thus:  She has some hideous dreame.  She spake to me, to; Whom should I strangle, sweet hart, with a lute string?

La.  The King of Morocco, I thinke.

Ri.  Tis so, she dreames.  What strange Chimeras wee Doe fancie in our sleepe!  I were best wake her.  Madam, Madam!

La.  O Murder, Murder!

Ri.  Sweet heart, Madam, wake!

La.  Whoes that?

Ri.  Tis I.

La.  Sir Richard?  Oh you have delivered me From such a dreame I quake to thinke upon’t.

Ri.  I must confesse you frighted me at first.

    Enter Dorothy.

Do.—­My Master come back? if he had found the [sic] Sir Francis here!

Ri.  How now? art thou frighted too?

Do.  Frighted, quoth a!  Oh, Madam, the key of the Closet quickly.  I must have some Cordiall water for Sir Francis; I feare this fitt will kill him.

La.  Alas, good gentleman! make hast.

Do.—­His appearance would betray all:  I thus prevent it.

La.  Nay, sweet hart, you sha’not leave me till I ha told
What a cruell Dreame I had.  Methought a king
Of Blackamores was in love with me, and haveing
By flattering Courtship drawne me to his bed chamber,
With my consent or force swore to enjoy mee. 
I knew not by what reasons to divert
The Ravisher, but told him that I heard
Thy voice, and bid him if he lov’d his life
Retire, for thou wouldst deere revenge my honour. 
But he pursueing me, I cry’d out Murder! 
At which sad noise methought I saw thee enter,
But, having nere a sword, I counselld thee
To strangle him with a Lute string, for which cruelty
Of mine, me thought he threw an Arrow at me,
Which, if thou hadst not wak’d me as thou didst,
Would as I slept with my strong feares ha killd me.

Ri.  This was the King of Morocco:  well, I’me glad I came to take away thy fright.

La.  But, sweet, you left me with a resolution To hunt this morning.  Have you done already?

Ri.  The theeves prevented me.  My Stable has been rob’d to night; two geldings And my roane Nagg are vanished.

La.  How?

Ri.  Nay, doe not thou vexe: 
I have sent hue and cry that may oretake ’em. 
But come, Ile leave thee to my glasse,
And visit Sir Francis now shees return’d.—­

    [Enter Dorothy.

How does our Noble guest?

Do.  Hees pretty well:  he has voided one stone since And now finds ease.

Ri.  Tis well:  attend your Mistres. [Exit.

La.  O, wench, I had almost undone my selfe, Come o’tother side, reach me that peticote; Ile tell the storie as I make me ready.