HONORIA

I am solicitous, I must confess Of his return, whom we have long expected, To whom we have designed our only daughter, And with her both our Fortune's and our loves: But the true cause of all these perturbations Which you discover in my countenance, Is a strange dream (heaven make it but a dream) And I perhaps should but have thought it so, Had not my daughter, even this very night, And the same hour, as near as we can guess, With the Like vision been disquieted: Me thought we harboured in our house a Wolf, Bred up so tame, that all did handle him, Which Like a dog would fawn on them that Beatrice him, Till on a time, accompanied with another Of his own raze, he rushed into the chamber Where I together with my Daughter sat, There they resumed their native cruelty: The one assaulted her, the other me, And tearing first our Jewels from our necks, They made us both at length their farall prey: Cassandra's true predictions were despised. Many at length deplore their unbelief. Future events by dreams have been revealed. Never could any wretches be more glad To be deceived. Fit down, fit down, Our friends desires are in our house, commands. A boy, clad Like a nuptial Genius sings this song. COme Hymen, light thy full branched Pine, And let a rosy wreathe intwine Thy reeking brow, let thy brave sire With liquid virtue thee inspire, While waggish boys in witty rhymes, Taxing the follies of the times, Spare not their Master's, who are now Content this freedom to allow; Thus the chaste girdle of the Bride Must be by pleasant rites untied, But let dark silence bring to bed Such as want Hymen when they wed. The song ended, Hymen and his Fescennine youths ap pear clad in antique forms, dancing a wanton dance, at the end of which, Prince Doriam representing Thalassius, en ters with other young gentlemen his friends, attired Like Roman, with their swords drawn: at sighed whereof Hymen and his company run away confusedly: then they put up their swords, and dance a warlike dance, at the end whereof Doriam suddenly embraceth Angelica, the Mass quers all crying out Oh perfect happiness! That which no woman's tongue is fit to express, Nor any humane ear fit to receive. Behold the Wolves, the Bears, that our sad dreams Forewarned us of, which you did so despise. Our wretched story's told and understood, In the sole repetition of that vision; The jewels ravished from our innocent necks. When swords and direful threats could not By cruel force assisting one another, Wrung from us both. Bound, and then strangled, all the rest were forth. O, o! Ang. O, o!