University of Virginia Library

SCEN. 15.

Tactvs, with the robe in his hand, Somnvs, Crapvla, Lingva, Gvstvs, Olfactvs, Visvs, Avditvs.
Tac.
Thankes Deianeira for thy kind remembrance,
Tis a faire shirt Ile weare it for thy sake.

Crap.
Somnus heer's Tactus worse then all his fellowes
Stay but a while and you shall see him rage!

Som.
What will he do? see that hee scapes vs not!

Tact.
Tis a good shirt, it fitt's me passing well,
Tis verie warme indeede, but whats the matter.
Me thinkes I am some-what hotter then I was,
My heart beates faster then twas wont to do
My braines enflamed, my temples ake extreamely, oh, oh,
Oh what a wild-fire creepes amonge my bowells:
Ætna's with in my breast, my marrowe fries,
And runnes about my bones, oh my sides:
My sides, my raines, my head my raines, my head;
My heart, my heart, my liuer, my liuer, oh,
I burne, I burne, I burne, oh how I burne:
With scorching heate of implacable fire,
I burne extreame with flames vnsufferable,

Som.
Sure he doth but trie how to act Hercules:

Tact.
Is it this shirt that boiles me thus? oh heauens,
It fires me worse, and heates more furiously
Then Ioues dire thunderbolts; oh miserable,
They bide lesse paine that bathe in Phlegeton;
Could not the triple kingdome of the world,
Heauen, earth and hell destroie great Hercules?
Could not the damned sprights of hatefull Iuno?
Nor the great daungers of my labours kill me?
Am I the mighty sonne of Iupiter?
And shall this poisned linnen thus consume me?
Shall I be burnt? villaines flie vp to heauen,
Bid Iris muster vp a troupe of cloudes,
And shower downe cataracts of raine to coole me?
Or elce Ile breake her speckled bowe in peeces?
Will she not? no she hates mee like her mistris;
Why then descend you roagues to the vile deepe,
Fetch Neptune hether, charge him bring the sea,
To quench these flames, or else the worlds faire frame:
Wilbe in greater danger to be burnt,
Then when proud Phaeton ruld the Sunnes rich Chariot.

Som.
Ile take that care the world shall not be burnt:
If Somnus cords can hold you.
Somnus binds him.

Tact.
What Vulcan's this that offers to inchaine,
A greater souldier then the God of Mars.

Som.
He that each night with bloudlesse battell conquers,
The proudest conquerour that triumphs by warrs:

Cra.
Now Somnus there's but onely one remayning,
That was the author of these outrages.

Som.
Who's that? is he vnder my Command?

Cra.

Yes, yes, yes, tis Appetitus; if you go that way, and
looke about those thickets, ile go hither, and search this groue,
I doubt not but to finde him?

Som.
Content.

Exeunt Somnus, et Crapula.