Hip. For my part, I confess it, I was not made
For this single life; nor do I love hunting so,
But that I had rather be the chace my self.
Cro. By Venus (out upon me) I should have sworn
By Diana, I am of thy mind too wench;
And though I have ta'en an oath, not alone
To detest, but never to think of man,
Every hour something tels me I am forsworn;
For I confess, imagination helps me sometimes,
And that's all is left for us to feed on,
We might starve else, for if I have any pleasure
In this life, but when I sleep, I am a Pagan;
Then from the Courtier to the Countrey-clown,
I have strange visions.
Jul. Visions Crocale?
Cro. Yes, and fine visions too;
And visions I hope in dreams are harmless,
And not forbid by our Canons; the last night
(Troth 'tis a foolish one, but I must tell it)
As I lay in my Cabin, betwixt sleeping and waking.
Hip. Upon your back?
Cro. How should a young Maid lie, fool,
When she would be intranc'd?
Hip. We are instructed; forward I prethee.
Cro. Methought a sweet young man
In years some twenty, with a downy chin,
Promising a future beard, and yet no red one,
Stole slylie to my Cabin all unbrac'd,
Took me in his arms, and kiss'd me twenty times,
Yet still I slept.
Jul. Fie; thy lips run over Crocale.
But to the rest.
Cro. Lord, What a man is this thought I,
To do this to a Maid!
Yet then for my life I could not wake.
The youth, a little danted, with a trembling hand
Heav'd up the clothes.