CRA.  Stand still, stand still!  Visus, I think, comes yonder. 
If you think good, begin and bind him first;
For, he made fast, the rest will soon be quiet.

[Exit CRAPULA.

SCAENA UNDECIMA.

VISUS, SOMNUS.

VIS.  Sage Telemus, I now too late admire
Thy deep foresight and skill in prophecy,
Who whilom told’st me, that in time to come
Ulysses should deprive me of my sight. 
And now the slave, that march’d in Outis’ name,
Is prov’d Ulysses; and by this device
Hath ’scap’d my hands, and fled away by sea,
Leaving me desolate in eternal night. 
Ah, wretched Polypheme! where’s all thy hope,
And longing for thy beauteous Galatea? 
She scorn’d thee once, but now she will detest
And loathe to look upon thy dark’ned face;
Ah me, most miserable Polyphemus! 
But as for Ulysses, heaven and earth
Send vengeance ever on thy damned head,
In just revenge of my great injury!
                            [SOMNUS binds him. 
Who is he that dares to touch me?  Cyclops, come,
Come, all ye Cyclops, help to rescue me.
                [SOMNUS charms him; he sleeps.

SOM.  There rest thyself, and let thy quiet sleep
Restore thy weak imaginations.

SCAENA DUODECIMA.

LINGUA, SOMNUS, VISUS.

LIN.  Ha, ha, ha!  O, how my spleen is tickled with this sport
The madding Senses make about the woods! 
It cheers my soul, and makes my body fat,
To laugh at their mischances:  ha, ha, ha, ha! 
Heigho, the stitch hath caught me:  O, my heart! 
Would I had one to hold my sides awhile,
That I might laugh afresh:  O, how they run,
And chafe, and swear, and threaten one another!
                                          [SOMNUS binds her. 
Ay me, out, alas! ay me, help, help, who’s this that binds me? 
Help, Mendacio!  Mendacio, help!  Here’s one will ravish me.

SOM.  Lingua, content yourself, you must be bound.

LIN.  What a spite’s this?  Are my nails pared so near?  Can I not scratch his eyes out?  What have I done?  What, do you mean to kill me?  Murder, murder, murder!

[She falls asleep.

SCAENA DECIMA TERTIA.

GUSTUS, with a voiding knife[308] in his hand. 
SOMNUS, LINGUA, VISUS.

GUS.  Who cries out murder?  What, a woman slain! 
My Lady Lingua dead?  O heavens unjust! 
Can you behold this fact, this bloody fact,
And shower not fire upon the murderer? 
Ah, peerless Lingua! mistress of heavenly words,
Sweet tongue of eloquence, the life of fame,
Heart’s dear enchantress!  What disaster, fates,
Hath reft this jewel from our commonwealth? 
Gustus, the ruby that adorns the ring,
Lo, here defect, how shalt thou lead thy days,
Wanting the sweet companion of thy life,
But in dark sorrow and dull melancholy? 
But stay, who’s this? inhuman wretch! 
Bloodthirsty miscreant! is this thy handiwork? 
To kill a woman, a harmless lady? 
Villain, prepare thyself;
Draw, or I’ll sheathe my falchion in thy sides. 
There, take the guerdon[309] fit for murderers.