PHA. Ha, ha, ha! we shall hear anon where she lost her maidenhead: 'st, boy, my Lord Vicegerent and Master Register are hard by: run quickly; tell them of this accident, wish them come softly.
[Exit HEURESIS.
LIN. Mendacio, never talk farther, I doubt 'tis past recovery, and my robe likewise: I shall never have them again. Well, well.
PHA. How? her crown and her robe, never recover them? hum, was it not said to be left by Mercury, ha? I conjecture here's some knavery,—fast locked with sleep, in good faith. Was that crown and garment yours, Lingua?
LIN. Ay, marry were they, and that somebody hath felt, and shall feel more, if I live.
PHA. O, strange, she answers in her sleep to my question: but how come the Senses to strive for it?
LIN. Why, I laid it on purpose in their way, that they might fall together by the ears.
PHA. What a strange thing is this!
SCAENA DECIMA OCTAVA.
The Senses, APPETITUS, and LINGUA, asleep. PHANTASTES, COMMUNIS SENSUS, MEMORIA, ANAMNESTES.