Flor. Oh!
She wonders much at your unkind delay;
You've stayed so long, that at each little noise
The wind but makes, she asks if you are coming.
Pol. Tell her I'm here, and let the door be opened.
[Florella retires.
Now boast, Castalio; triumph now, and tell
Thyself strange stories of a promised bliss! [The door is unbolted.
It opens: ha! what means my trembling flesh?
Limbs, do your office and support me well;
Bear me to her, then fail me if you can. [Exit.
Re-enter Castalio and Page.
Page. Indeed, my lord, 'twill be a lovely morning;
Pray let us hunt.
Cast. Go, you're an idle prattler.
I'll stay at home to-morrow: if your lord
Thinks fit, he may command my hounds. Go, leave me;
I must to bed.
Page. I'll wait upon your lordship,
If you think fit, and sing you to repose.
Cast. No, my kind boy, the night is too far wasted;
My senses too are quite disrobed of thought,
And ready all with me to go to rest.
Good-night: commend me to my brother.
Page. Oh! you never heard the last new song I learnt; it is the finest, prettiest song indeed, of my lord and my lady you know who, that were caught together, you know where. My lord, indeed, it is.