SOM. Eh, O, O; are you sure they be so? oho, oho, oho; eh, waw? What good can I do? ou, hoh, haw. CRA. Why, I tell you, unless you help-- [SOMNUS _falls down and sleeps_. Soft son of night, right heir to quietness, Labour's repose, life's best restorative, Digestion's careful nurse, blood's comforter, Wit's help, thought's charm, the stay of Microcosm, Sweet Somnus, chiefest enemy to care: My dearest friend, lift up thy lumpish head, Ope thy dull eyes, shake off this drowsiness, Rouse up thyself. SOM. O Crapula, how now, how now! O, O, how; who's there? Crapula, speak quickly, what's the matter? CRA. As I told you, the noble Senses, peers of Microcosm, Will eftsoon fall to ruin perpetual. Unless your ready helping-hand recure them. Lately they banqueted at Gustus' table, And there fell mad or drunk, I know not whether; So that it's doubtful in these outrageous fits, That they'll murder one another. SOM. Fear it not. If they have 'scap'd already, bring me to them Or them to me; I'll quickly make them know The power of my large-stretched authority. These cords of sleep, wherewith I wont to bind The strongest arm that e'er resisted me, Shall be the means whereby I will correct The Senses' outrage and distemperature. CRA. Thanks, gentle Somnus, I'll go seek them out, And bring them to you soon as possible. SOM. Despatch it quickly, lest I fall asleep for want of work. 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.