Ant. Deceive me not, good glasses, [for] your lights
In my esteem never till now was precious,
It is the same, it is the very same
I sleeping saw.
Aur. Is this the man fame speaks so nobly of?
O love, Aurelia never until now
Could say he knew thee; I must dissemble it.
[Aside.
Pet. Come, sir, to my castle.
Aur. Fie on you, sir; to kill a governor, it is a fact death cannot appear too horrible to punish.
Ant. Can this be truth? O shallow, shallow man,
To credit air! believe there can be substance in
A cloud of thick'ned smoke, as truth
Hid in a dream; yes, there is truth that, like
A scroll fetch'd from an oracle,
Betrays the double-dealing of the gods;
Dreams, that speak all of joy, do turn to grief,
And such bad fate deludes my light belief.
Pet. Away with him.
[Exeunt.
Aurelia sola.