King. You, for a moment beckon’d from your office,
Tell me thus far how goes it. In due time
The potion left him?
Lord. At the very hour
To which your Highness temper’d it. Yet not
So wholly but some lingering mist still hung
About his dawning senses—which to clear,
We fill’d and handed him a morning drink
With sleep’s specific antidote suffused;
And while with princely raiment we invested