_Ri_. I prethe come to bed agen. _La_. So, so, do not troble me; I am now in some little ease; its a heavenly thing to be goeing. _Ri_. Dost heare? _La_. Your noise will bring my paine back agen; if you knew what a vexation it were for me to speake, You wo'not put me too't so. If you doe talke I wo'not answere a word more, oh! _Ri_. Well by this no light ile to _London_ tomorrow. [_She takes Dorothy by the hand and exit_. Now do I see it is possible that a womans teeth should be as troublesome as her tongue. _Do_. Oh, oh! _Ri_. I cannot choose but pitty her, that any woman should hold so much paine in a hollow tooth. _Do_.--If my Mr. touched with so much compassion should rise and force me to bed with him, I must not cry out a rape; tis at the worst on my side but fornication in my owne defence. _Ri_. I prethe come to Bed. _Do_. Oh, oh, oh! _Ri_. The musick at a convocation of Catts upon a witches upsetting is the spheres to this Catterwalling. I will thrust my head into the pillow, as _Dametas_[274] did in a bush when the beare was a comeing, and then I shanot heare her. _Do_. Oh, this is a kind of Purgatory for sins of the flesh. If she should fall asleepe with the tother knight it is not possible I should hold out till morning; that which would fright away an Ague would put me into a feare, I shall ha the toothache indeed with counterfeiting; I have knowne some men caught the stammers so; my gums begin to murmure, there is a feare all over my flesh, she will stay so long, and then--- _Ri. coughs_.--Uh, uh! _Do_. Oh, oh!--Ile shift places to shew more distraction; at the worst my noise shall be within his reach; it may give her notice to returne too. [_Exit_. [SCENE 6.] _Sir Francis a sleepe; a table, inke, and paper. Enter Lady_. _La_. I am full of feares, and my owne motion frights me; This furious love is a strange pilot. Sir, Where are you? ha! asleepe! can any dulnes That is not Death possess a gentleman, So valiant in desires, when he expects To meete his Mistresse? How I blush to raise him! Was I not worth thy waking expectation? Farewell; yet something that [like?] a charme that's fastned To my poore hart restraines me. Inke and paper! Ile leave him a short monument of this shame And my neglected Love. [_Writes_. He knowes my hand: farwell, forgetfull Lover. [_Exit_.