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SCÆNA 3.

Ephorbas Solus.
Eph.
Riddle upon riddle: I have dreamt this night
Plangus was cloathd like innocence, all white;
And Andromana then methoughts was grown
So black, nothing but all one guilt was shewn.
What shall I do? Shall I beleeve a dream?
Which is a vapour born along the stream
Of fancy, and sprung up from the gross fumes
Of a full stomach, sent to the upper rooms
Oth' brain by our ill Genius to spoyl our sight,
And cloud our judgements like a misty night.
Why do I doubt? tis ominous to stay
Demurring when the way is plain: Is day
Or night best to judge colours? shall I stand
Trying the waters foundness, when the land


Presents firm footing? Truth by day appears,
And from Papers hope to find my fears
Oppos'd. And yet me thinks 'tis very strange
A son of mine should suddenly thus change,
And throw his nature off, I did not so
When I was young I am resolvd to know
The truth, and clear this mist from fore my eyes,
If't can be done by care, by gold, or spies.

Exit.