SOM. Eh, O, O; are you sure they be so? oho, oho, oho; eh, waw?
What good can I do? ou, hoh, haw.
CRA. Why, I tell you, unless you help—
[SOMNUS falls down and sleeps.
Soft son of night, right heir to quietness,
Labour's repose, life's best restorative,
Digestion's careful nurse, blood's comforter,
Wit's help, thought's charm, the stay of Microcosm,
Sweet Somnus, chiefest enemy to care:
My dearest friend, lift up thy lumpish head,
Ope thy dull eyes, shake off this drowsiness,
Rouse up thyself.
SOM. O Crapula, how now, how now! O, O, how; who's there?
Crapula, speak quickly, what's the matter?
CRA. As I told you, the noble Senses, peers of Microcosm,
Will eftsoon fall to ruin perpetual.
Unless your ready helping-hand recure them.
Lately they banqueted at Gustus' table,
And there fell mad or drunk, I know not whether;
So that it's doubtful in these outrageous fits,
That they'll murder one another.
SOM. Fear it not.
If they have 'scap'd already, bring me to them
Or them to me; I'll quickly make them know
The power of my large-stretched authority.
These cords of sleep, wherewith I wont to bind
The strongest arm that e'er resisted me,
Shall be the means whereby I will correct
The Senses' outrage and distemperature.
CRA. Thanks, gentle Somnus, I'll go seek them out,
And bring them to you soon as possible.
SOM. Despatch it quickly, lest I fall asleep for want of work.
CRA. Stand still, stand still! Visus, I think, comes yonder.
If you think good, begin and bind him first;
For, he made fast, the rest will soon be quiet.
[Exit CRAPULA.