Was still his first.  He carried me to Court,
     Where, for the second time, I crossed your path;
     Where, as I watch’d my opportunity,
     Suddenly broke this public passion out;
     Which, drowning private into public wrong,
     Yet swiftlier sweeps it to revenge along.

     Seg. 
     Oh God, if this be dreaming, charge it not
     To burst the channel of enclosing sleep
     And drown the waking reason!  Not to dream
     Only what dreamt shall once or twice again
     Return to buzz about the sleeping brain
     Till shaken off for ever—­
     But reassailing one so quick, so thick—­
     The very figure and the circumstance
     Of sense-confess’d reality foregone
     In so-call’d dream so palpably repeated,
     The copy so like the original,
     We know not which is which; and dream so-call’d
     Itself inweaving so inextricably
     Into the tissue of acknowledged truth;
     The very figures that empeople it
     Returning to assert themselves no phantoms
     In something so much like meridian day,
     And in the very place that not my worst
     And veriest disenchanter shall deny
     For the too well-remember’d theatre
     Of my long tragedy—­Strike up the drums! 
     If this be Truth, and all of us awake,
     Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: 
     If but a Vision I will see it out,
     And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout.

     Capt. 
     And in good time, sir, for a palpable
     Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too,
     Here is Clotaldo taken.

     Soldiers. 
     In with him! 
     In with the traitor!

     (Clotaldo brought in.)

     Seg. 
     Ay, Clotaldo, indeed—­
     Himself—­in his old habit—­his old self—­
     What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while
     To swear me this for truth, and afterwards
     All for a dreaming lie?

     CLO. 
     Awake or dreaming,
     Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs,
     Drawn in rebellion ’gainst their Sovereign.

     Seg. (about to strike). 
     Traitor!  Traitor yourself!—­
     But soft—­soft—­soft!—­
     You told me, not so very long ago,
     Awake or dreaming—­I forget—­my brain
     Is not so clear about it—­but I know
     One test you gave me to discern between,
     Which mad and dreaming people cannot master;
     Or if the dreamer could, so best secure
     A comfortable waking—­Was’t not so? 
     (To Rosaura). 
     Needs not your intercession now, you see,
     As in the dream before—­
     Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too
     That only traitor wert, to me if true—­
     Give him his sword; set him on a fresh horse;
     Conduct him safely through my rebel force;
     And so God speed him to his sovereign’s side! 
     Give me your hand; and whether all awake
     Or all a-dreaming, ride, Clotaldo, ride—­
     Dream-swift—­for fear we dreams should overtake.