Aurelia. Music.
Prepasso. The Duke? is the Duke returned?
Aurelia. Music.
Enter Celso.
The Duke is quite invisible, or else is not.
Aurelia. We are not pleased with your intrusion upon our private retirement; we are not pleased: you have forgot yourselves.
Enter a Page.
Celso. Boy, thy master? where’s the Duke?
Page. Alas, I left him burying the earth with his spread joyless limbs; he told me he was heavy, would sleep: bid me walk off, for the strength of fantasy oft made him talk in his dreams: I strait obeyed, nor ever saw him since; but wheresoe’er he is, he’s sad.
Aurelia. Music, sound high, as in our heart; sound high.