Cle. I shall not live to speak so many to you.
Dor. Why? what forbids you?
Cle. But even now the spirit
Of my dead Host appear'd, and told me, that
This night I should be with him: did you not meet it?
It went out at that door.
Dor. A vain Chimera
Of your imagination: can you think
Mine Host would not as well have spoke to me now,
As he did in the Inn? these waking dreams
Not alone trouble you, but strike a strange
Distraction in your Family: see the tears
Of my poor Daughter, fair Olinda's sadness,
Your Brothers, and your friends grief, servants sorrow.
Good Son bear up, you have many years to live
A comfort to us all: let's in to supper;
Ghosts never walk till after mid-night, if
I may believe my Grannam. We will wash
These thoughts away with Wine, spight of Hobgoblins.
Cle. You reprehend me justly: gentle Madam,
And all the rest, forgive me, I'le endeavour
To be merry with you.
Dor. That's well said.
Beron. I have procur'd your pardon.
Cal. Once more I receive you
Into my service: but take especial care
You fall no further.
Clar. Never Madam: Sir,
When you shall find fit time to call me to it,
I will make good what I have said.
Ber. Till when, upon your life be silent.