SCEN. 12.
Lingva, Somnvs, Visvs.
Lin.
Ha, ha, ha: oh how my splene is tickled with this sporte.
The madding Senses make about the woods,
It cheeres my soule and makes my bodie fat:
To laugh at their mischances, ha, ha, ha, ha,
Heigh ho, the stitch hath caught me, oh my heart!
Would I had one to hold my sides a while,
That I might laugh a fresh: oh how they runne,
And chafe, and sweare, and threaten one another,
(Somnus bind's her.
Ay me, out alas, ay me help, help, who's this that bind's me?
Helpe Mendatio, Mendatio helpe, heres one will rauish me.
Som.
Lingua content your selfe you must be bound.
Ling.
What a spight's this? are my nailes par'd so neere?
Can I not scratch his eies out? What haue I done? what? doe
you meane to kill me? murder, murder, murder,
(she fall's a sleepe)
