Or deemed I did, lurking in ambush here
Upon the eve of our great festival,
Scheming some bloody treachery to take
Our Cherson in the toils? Oh, 'tis too much;
I cannot trust my senses! 'Twas a dream!
Ire. No dream, but dreadful truth!
Gycia.
Thou cruel woman
How have I harmed thee, thou shouldst hate me thus?
But 'twas no dream. Why was it else that he,