Or Franke, or any man, but not my mother!
[Enter Sir Raph Smith from the fields.]
S. Rap. O, when will this same yeare of night have end?
Long lookt for daies sunne, when wilt thou ascend? 30
Let not this theefe friend, misty vale[1901] of night,
Incroach on day, and shadow thy faire light,
Whilst thou com'st tardy from thy Thetes bed,
Blushing foorth, golden haire and glorious red;
O, stay not long, bright lanthorne of the day, 35
To light my mist way[1902] feete to my right way!