Acast. Blest be the morning that has brought me health;
A happy rest has softened pain away,
And I'll forget it, though my mind's not well:
A heavy melancholy clogs my heart;
I droop and sigh, I know not why. Dark dreams,
Sick fancy's children, have been over-busy,
And all the night played farces in my brains.
Methought I heard the midnight raven cry;
Waked with the imagined noise, my curtains seemed
To start, and at my feet my sons appeared,
Like ghosts, all pale and stiff: I strove to speak,
But could not; suddenly the forms were lost,
And seemed to vanish in a bloody cloud.
'Twas odd, and for the present shook my thoughts;
But was the effect of my distempered blood;
And, when the health's disturbed, the mind's unruly.
Enter Polydore.
Good-morning, Polydore.
Pol. Heaven keep your lordship!
Acast. Have you yet seen Castalio to-day?
Pol. My lord, 'tis early day; he's hardly risen.
Acast. Go, call him up, and meet me in the chapel. [Exit Polydore.
I cannot think all has gone well to-night;
For as I waking lay (and sure my sense
Was then my own) methought I heard my son
Castalio's voice; but it seemed low and mournful;
Under my window too I thought I heard it:
My untoward fancy could not be deceived
In everything; and I will search the truth out.
Enter Monimia and Florella.
Already up, Monimia! you rose
Thus early surely to outshine the day!
Or was there anything that crossed your rest?
They were naughty thoughts that would not let you sleep.