ernal, that would make up sport.
Now to the revelation of that secret
She promis'd when she fell in love with you.

Fran. You 're passionately met in this sad world.

Zan. I would have you look up, sir; these court tears
Claim not your tribute to them: let those weep,
That guiltily partake in the sad cause.
I knew last night, by a sad dream I had,
Some mischief would ensue: yet, to say truth,
My dream most concern'd you.

Lodo. Shall 's fall a-dreaming?

Fran. Yes, and for fashion sake I 'll dream with her.

Zan. Methought, sir, you came stealing to my bed.

Fran. Wilt thou believe me, sweeting? by this light
I was a-dreamt on thee too; for methought
I saw thee naked.

Zan. Fie, sir! as I told you,
Methought you lay down by me.

Fran. So dreamt I;
And lest thou shouldst take cold, I cover'd thee
With this Irish mantle.

Zan. Verily I did dream
You were somewhat bold with me: but to come to 't----

Lodo. How! how! I hope you will not got to 't here.

Fran. Nay, you must hear my dream out.

Zan. Well, sir, forth.

Fran. When I threw the mantle o'er thee, thou didst laugh
Exceedingly, methought.

Zan. Laugh!

Fran. And criedst out, the hair did tickle thee.

Zan. There was a dream indeed!

Lodo. Mark her, I pray thee, she simpers like the suds
A collier hath been wash'd in.

Zan. Come, sir; good fortune tends you. I did tell you
I would reveal a secret: Isabella,
The Duke of Florence' sister, was empoisone'd
By a fum'd picture; and Camillo's neck
Was broke by damn'd Flamineo, the mischance
Laid on a vaulting-horse.

Fran. Most strange!

Zan. Most true.

Lodo. The bed of snakes is broke.

Zan. I sadly do confess, I had a hand
In the black deed.

Fran. Thou kept'st their counsel.

Zan. Right;
For which, urg'd with contrition, I intend
This night to rob Vittoria.

Lodo. Excellent penitence!
Usurers dream on 't while they sleep out sermons.

Zan. To further our escape, I have entreated
Leave to retire me, till the funeral,
Unto a friend i' th' country: that excuse
Will further our escape. In coin and jewels
I shall at least make good unto your use
An hundred thousand crowns.

Fran. Oh, noble wench!

Lodo. Those crowns we 'll share.

Zan. It is a dowry,
Methinks, should make that sun-burnt proverb false