Ori. I know ye very well;
You are my Godfather; and that's the Monsieur.
De-Gar. And who am I?
Ori. You are Amadis de Gaul, Sir.
Oh oh, my heart! were ye never in love, sweet Lady?
And do you never dream of Flowers and Gardens?
I dream of walking Fires; take heed, it comes now;
Who's that? pray stand away; I have seen that face sure;
How light my head is!
Ros. Take some rest.
Ori. I cannot,
For I must be up to morrow to go to Church,
And I must dress me, put my new Gown on,
And be as fine to meet my Love: Heigh ho!
Will not you tell me where my Love lies buried?
Mir. He is not dead: beshrew my heart, she stirs me.
Ori. He is dead to me.
Mir. Is't possible my Nature
Should be so damnable, to let her suffer?
Give me your hand.
Ori. How soft you feel, how gentle!
I'll tell you your fortune, Friend.
Mir. How she stares on me!