Fra. Vill not you stay in mine bosom to-night, love?
Free. By no means, sweet breast; this gentleman has vow’d to see me chastely laid.
Fra. He shall have a bed too, if dat it please him.
Free. Peace, you tender him offence; he is one of a professed abstinence. Siren, your voice and away.
She sings to her Lute.
THE SONG.
The dark is my delight, 220
So ’tis the nightingale’s;
My music’s in the night,
So is the nightingale’s;
My body is but little,
So is the nightingale’s;
I love to sleep ’gainst prickle,
So doth the nightingale.
Thanks; buss; so. The night grows old; good rest.
Fra. Rest to mine dear love; rest, and no long absence. 230
Free. Believe me, not long.