_Page._ Oh dear me! boys that go to school learn psalms; but pages, that are better bred, sing lampoons. _Cast._ Well, leave me; I'm weary. _Page._ Oh! but you promised me, last time I told you what colour my Lady Monimia's stockings were of, and that she gartered them above the knee, that you would give me a little horse to go a-hunting upon; so you did. I'll tell you no more stories, except you keep your word with me. _Cast._ Well, go, you trifler, and to-morrow ask me. _Page._ Indeed, my lord, I can't abide to leave you. _Cast._ Why, wert thou instructed to attend me? _Page._ No, no, indeed, indeed, my lord, I was not; But I know what I know. _Cast._ What dost thou know? Death! what can all this mean? _Page._ Oh! I know who loves somebody. _Cast._ What's that to me, boy? _Page._ Nay, I know who loves you too. _Cast._ That is a wonder; pr'ythee tell it me. _Page._ That--'tis--I know who--but will you give me the horse then? _Cast._ I will, my child. _Page._ It is my Lady Monimia, look you; but don't you tell her I told you: she'll give me no more playthings then, I heard her say so as she lay a-bed, man. _Cast._ Talked she of me when in her bed, Cordelio? _Page._ Yes, and I sung her the song you made too; and she did so sigh, and so look with her eyes, and her breasts did so lift up and down; I could have found in my heart to have beat them, for they made me ashamed. _Cast._ Hark, what's that noise? Take this, begone, and leave me. You knave, you little flatterer, get you gone. [_Exit_ Page. Surely it was a noise. Hist!--only fancy; For all is hushed, as Nature were retired, And the perpetual motion standing still, So much she from her work appears to cease, And every warring element's at peace; All the wild herds are in their coverts couched; The fishes to their banks or ooze repaired, And to the murmurs of the waters sleep; The feeling air's at rest, and feels[21] no noise, Except of some soft breaths among the trees, Rocking the harmless birds that rest upon them. 'Tis now that, guided by my love, I go To take possession of Monimia's arms. Sure Polydore's by this time gone to bed. At midnight thus the usurer steals untracked, To make a visit to his hoarded gold, And feast his eyes upon the shining mammon. [_Knocks._ She hears me not; sure she already sleeps; Her wishes could not brook my long delay, And her poor heart has beat itself to rest. [_Knocks again._ Monimia! my angel--ha!--not yet-- How long's the shortest[22] moment of delay To a heart impatient of its pangs, like mine, In sight of ease, and panting to the goal! Once more--[_Knocks again._ _Flor._ [_At the window._] Who's there, That comes thus rudely to disturb our rest? _Cast._ 'Tis I.