Fran. How?
Enter the Moor
Lodo. You shall hear that hereafter.
See, yon 's the infernal, 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.
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