The End of the Fourth Act.

        Act the Fifth.

  Caelia Discover’d in Bed, Flora by her.

Cael. Sure ’twas a real Pistol-shot that wak’d me,
Yet from a Dream so terrible, it did it,
That I had rather never sleep again,
Then hazzard such another.  I thought I saw
Lye dead by me,
My Lord Antonio, Don Gerardo, Jasper,
The Nurse, Francisco, and the Young Sebastian,
With Pedro, and thy self; this dreadful sight,
Or else the Pistols noise, I spoke of, wak’d me,
And made me cry help, help, which frighted thee.

Flor. Why truly, Madam, it was a dreadful Dream, And I as much was frighted at your call, Yet, for my own part, I did hear no Pistol.

Cael. It may be then, it only was my fancy,
For truly all my Dream seems still to me
So like a truth, that I can scarce distinguish
Whether I then did wake, or now am sleeping;
And but I see these things, and thee so plain,
I should conclude my Dream did still continue.

Flor. Pray Heav’n divert all mischief from the house,
For I have heard it said by Learned Men,
Nay, and Religious too, that Dreams like these. 
That stick so fast upon our fancies waking,
Are guided by a power that’s more then Chance,
And alwayes are portents of something like them: 
I’m sure, for my own part, do what I can,
That Dream I had will not yet leave my head,
Which makes me think Jasper designs me mischief.

Cael. Flora, you go too far, Dreams are but shadows
Reflected from some Acts the day preceeding,
As ours are now; for from those Accidents
Of my Lords taking Jasper, the Dream you told,
And Don Gerardo’s naming of Francisco,
Mine now is formed:  Thus they but succeed
Things past, and not prognostick things to come.

Flor. Pray Heav’ns these do not do’t, but I’m afraid.

  Enter Nurse, frighted with Eugenia’s_ Ghost._

Nurse. Stand off, stand off, what makes you follow me?  I’m sure I did not kill you, if you’re dead, Or if you be not, why are you so pale?—­ So, so—­she’s gone—­but what made me come hither.

Cael. What, do you study wayes to fright me, Nurse? 
It is no proper time to play your tricks. 
What makes you up at such a time of Night? 
Look, how she stands amaz’d, and doth not answer;
Think you I take a pleasure to be frighted? 
That you persist in’t still?

Flor. What, is the Woman mad, or would be thought so?  What makes you stand and stare thus?

Nurse. Did you see no Body?

Cael. Who should we see but an Old doting fool, That turn’d a Child again, would Act like one, And can’t find a proper time for’t neither.

Flor. What make you up so late, Nurse?