Fran. Fortunate Francis, that was wrapped in's mother's smock.
Dor. Give me your hand, Francis.
Fran. There 'tis. I melt already!
Dor. My lord! Count Lodovico, awake!
Fran. I am lost for ever, madam.
Dor. My lord! my lord!
Fran. If I pull too hard, I shall pull her out o' th' bed too.
Dor. My lord, will ye not wake?
Lod. What's the matter? what's the matter?
Fran. How I do dwindle!