Presses me to her bossome; gentyll sweete,
Let me not hurte thy goodnes, for my rest
Shall but like softe ayre gentlye cover thee.
[_Sleepes on her bosome_.

_Turp_. What, madam? is he salve a sleepe?

_Gab_. Most soundlye, Sir: sadnes from hys soule
Hath charmd hys sence with slumber.

_Turp_. Then, if it please your goodnes to withdrawe
And fytt hys hyhgnes chamber, I will watche
And call you at hys wakynge.

_Gab_. Willinglye. [_Ex. Gabriella_.

_Turp_. I have not seene so stronge a fytt as thys,
It is beyond all fevers; for thys feynde,
Thys most mallygnant spyrritt called love,
Raynes in him above wonder, nay above
Th'accounte of learnynge or experyence.
I've reade in younger studyes there are charmes,
Spells and devysses to comand men's harts;
That charracters and imadges and scrolles
Can even bynd the soule to servytude.
It may be that's wrought on the emperoure.
I know the hate of _Ganelon_ to be
A myne of all deceytfull polycie,
And thys affectyon thus unnaturall,
Can but have such a father. Suer Ile trye,