Pret. How strange a captive am I grown of late!
Shall I accuse my love, or blame my fate!
My love, I cannot; that is too divine:
And against fate what mortal dares repine?[15]
Enter Chloris.
But here she comes.
Sure 'tis some blazing comet! is it not! [Lies down.
Bayes. Blazing comet! mark that, egad, very fine!
Pret. But I am so surpris'd with sleep, I cannot speak the rest. [Sleeps.
Bayes. Does not that, now, surprise you, to fall asleep in the nick? his spirits exhale with the heat of his passion, and all that, and swop he falls asleep, as you see. Now here she must make a simile.