The woman was not born to so much blessedness,
He has no heat: study consumes his oyl, Master.
Lop.
Let's leave it to the will of Fate, and presently
Over a cup of lustie Sack, let's prophesie.
I am like a man that dreamt he was an Emperour,
Come Diego, hope, and whilst he lasts, we'll lay it on. [Ex.
SCENA III.
Enter Jamy, Milanes, Arsenio.
Jam.