wish to pass his life in such a sleep, a long, long sleep, dreaming of some fair heavenly Goddess, with the moon shining upon his face, and the trees growing silently over his head!—There is something in this story which has taken a strange hold of my fancy, perhaps ‘out of my weakness and my melancholy’; but for the satisfaction of the reader, I will quote the whole passage: ‘it is silly sooth, and dallies with the innocence of love, like the old age.’ ‘_Cynthia._ Well, let us to Endymion. I will not be so stately (good Endymion) not to stoop to do thee good; and if thy liberty consist in a kiss from me, thou shalt have it. And although my mouth hath been heretofore as untouched as my thoughts, yet now to recover thy life (though to restore thy youth it be impossible) I will do that to Endymion, which yet never mortal man could boast of heretofore, nor shall ever hope for hereafter. (_She kisses him_). _Eumenides._ Madam, he beginneth to stir. _Cynthia._ Soft, Eumenides, stand still. _Eumenides._ Ah! I see his eyes almost open. _Cynthia._ I command thee once again, stir not: I will stand behind him. _Panelion._ What do I see? Endymion almost awake? _Eumenides._ Endymion, Endymion, art thou deaf or dumb? Or hath this long sleep taken away thy memory? Ah! my sweet Endymion, seest thou not Eumenides, thy faithful friend, thy faithful Eumenides, who for thy sake hath been careless of his own content? Speak, Endymion! Endymion! Endymion! _Endymion._ Endymion! I call to mind such a name. _Eumenides._ Hast thou forgotten thyself, Endymion? Then do I not marvel thou rememberest not thy friend. I tell thee thou art Endymion, and I Eumenides. Behold also Cynthia, by whose favour thou art awaked, and by whose virtue thou shalt continue thy natural course. _Cynthia._ Endymion! Speak, sweet Endymion! Knowest thou not Cynthia? _Endymion._ Oh, heavens! whom do I behold? Fair Cynthia, divine Cynthia? _Cynthia._ I am Cynthia, and thou Endymion. _Endymion._ Endymion! What do I hear? What! a grey beard, hollow eyes, withered body, and decayed limbs, and all in one night? _Eumenides._ One night! Thou hast slept here forty years, by what enchantress, as yet it is not known: and behold the twig to which thou laidest thy head, is now become a tree. Callest thou not Eumenides to remembrance? _Endymion._ Thy name I do remember by the sound, but thy favour I do not yet call to mind: only divine Cynthia, to whom time, fortune, death, and destiny are subject, I see and remember; and in all humility, I regard and reverence. _Cynthia._ You shall have good cause to remember Eumenides, who hath for thy safety forsaken his own solace. _Endymion._ Am I that Endymion, who was wont in court to lead my life, and in justs, tourneys, and arms, to exercise my youth? Am I that Endymion?