Mart. She's no spirit Sir, pray kiss her, Lady,
Be very gentle to him.
Thier. Stay, she is warm,
And by my life the same lips tell me brightness,
Are you the same Ordella still?
Mart. The same, Sir,
Whom heavens and my good Angel staid from ruin.
Thier. Kiss me again.
Ordel. The same still, still your servant.
Thier. 'Tis she, I know her now Martel; sit down sweet.
Oh blest and happiest woman, a dead slumber
Begins to creep upon me, oh my jewel!
Enter Messenger and Memberge.
Ordel. Oh sleep my Lord.
Thier. My joyes are too much for me.
Mess. Brunhalt impatient of her constraint to see
Protaldye tortur'd, has choak'd her self.