Arden. Sweet love, thou knowest that we two, Ovid-like, 60

60

Have often chid the morning when it ’gan to peep,

And often wished that dark night’s purblind steeds

Would pull her by the purple mantle back,

And cast her in the ocean to her love.

[4]

But this night, sweet Alice, thou hast killed my heart:

I heard thee call on Mosbie in thy sleep.

Alice. ’Tis like I was asleep when I named him,

For being awake he comes not in my thoughts.

Arden. Ay, but you started up and suddenly,

Instead of him, caught me about the neck. 70

70

Alice. Instead of him? why, who was there but you?

And where but one is, how can I mistake?

Franklin. Arden, leave to urge her over-far.

Arden. Nay, love, there is no credit in a dream;

Let it suffice I know thou lovest me well.

Alice. Now I remember whereupon it came:

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