_Hurlo._ I hope they’ll not rob me of my Honour, that his Majesty has bestow’d upon me: they’ll call me Lord, will they not? _Primo._ Words are not the Language of the Place, ’tis Musick, Motion, Hieroglyphick, Dress. _Hurlo._ Tell me how shall I converse with _Brutus_, I long to see him: By what shall I know him? _Primo._ _Brutus_ is in Scarlet; his Heart shines like a Star, and his Right hand is black. _Hurlo._ What, for Murder! then I shall be black all over; now be sincere, and let me know your Opinion of my Case. _Primo._ Then answer me, can you love a Friend more than a Mistress? _Hurlo._ No. _Primo._ Are you mov’d with Sounds? do they drive Venom from your Soul, and make your Blood run cold? _Hurlo._ No. _Primo._ Are you affected with sublime Prose; do your Nerves creep, and your Veins shiver? _Hurlo._ No. _Primo._ Then you’ll enter into the Shades like a Cow in an Opera, terrify’d with Delights; she lows and interrupts; she gallops to those Climes, where is most Grass, and a Bull. [_Ex._ Primo. _Hurlo._ May be live in my Dream, upon the Desarts of _Arabia_, hurl’d about with stormy Tempest, in Thunder, Lightning and Hail; be pursued by Dragons, Wolves and Tygers; then fly to my Body for shelter, and find the Door shut. Oh most horrid! oh, what has brought me to this unhappy Place of Misery? it was in pursuit of Honour. Honour, like the lighted Meteor in the Air, She leads the midnight Traveller astray, Forsaken by the Light, the Sun and Day; Thro’ Brambles, Briers, Hedges, Ditches, The _Ignis fatuus_ the Fool bewitches. Thus stimulated, the glimmering Light deceives him, Leads him to a miry Bog, then vanishes and leaves him: Thus I do roul and wallow in the Mire of the Mind, Not one Moment’s Ease to my Soul can find; Shine oh Sun, my Life to me restore, And thee for _Fatuus_ I’ll forsake no more. [_Ex._ Hurlo. _Enter_ King, _and Officer_. _King._ Here I parted with _Theorbeo_; ah he is gone, he is banish’d from the Earth; oh now my Body hungers for the Ground, as my Soul is a-thirst for Heaven; I will go visit him in the Dust, whilst Sorrow is desirous to vent, lest I rejoice at the Sight of _Cademore_, and forget my Grief for my Friend. The Fatigue of this Day has been very great; what can strengthen these trembling Nerves; quench and compose these flaming Spirits? _Offic._ Sleep. _King._ Oh, what can make an afflicted Mind to sleep? _Offic._ Harmony.