Ant. What a blow was there giuen?
Seb. And it had not falne flat-long
Gon. You are Gentlemen of braue mettal: you would lift the Moone out of her spheare, if she would continue in it fiue weekes without changing.
Enter Ariell playing solemne Musicke.
Seb. We would so, and then go a Bat-fowling
Ant. Nay good my Lord, be not angry
Gon. No I warrant you, I will not aduenture my discretion so weakly: Will you laugh me asleepe, for I am very heauy
Ant. Go sleepe, and heare vs
Alon. What, all so soone asleepe? I wish mine eyes
Would (with themselues) shut vp my thoughts,
I finde they are inclin'd to do so
Seb. Please you Sir,
Do not omit the heauy offer of it:
It sildome visits sorrow, when it doth, it is a Comforter