Act the Fourth.
Cælia on a Couch, Flora by her.
Cæl.
Flora, I cannot sleep, for all my thoughts
Infected with my griefs, flye up and down,
Collecting only things to keep me waking.
Flo. I’le not stir from you, Madam, all this Night.
Cæl. Flora, thy diligence deserves Reward,
And I’le not long be backward for to thank thee.
But prethee sing that Song I love so well,
That harmony, perhaps, will Charm my cares,
And give my senses Rest.