Alice. 'Tis not her hour of waking.
Mich. Did you lye with her, Lady?
Alice. Not to night Sir,
Nor any night this week else.
Mich. When last saw ye her?
Alice. Late yesternight.
Mich. Was she 'bed then?
Alice. No Sir,
I left her at her prayers: why do ye ask me?
Mich. I have been strangely haunted with a dream
All this long night, and after many wakings,
The same dream still; me thought I met young Cellide
Just at S. Katherines gate the Nunnery.
Val. Ha?
Mic. Her face slubber'd o're with tears, and troubles,
Me thought she cry'd unto the Lady Abbess,
For charity receive me holy woman,
A Maid that has forgot the worlds affections,
Into thy virgin order: me thought she took her,
Put on a Stole, and sacred robe upon her,
And there I left her.