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ACTUS. 5. SCEN. 13.
GUSTUS with a voiding knife in his hand, SOMNUS, LINGUA, VISUS.
GUST.
Who cries out murder! What a woman slain?
My Lady Lingua dead? oh Heavens in just
Can you behold this fact, this blouby fact!
And shower not fire upon the murderer?
Ah peerless Lingua mistress of heavenly words,
Sweet tongue of eloquence, the life of fame,
Heart's dear enchantress: what disaster fates
Have reft this Jewel from our Commonwealth!
Gustus the rubie that adornes thy ringe,
Loe here defect, how shalt thou lead thy daies,
Wanting the sweet Companion of thy life?
But in dark sorrow and dull melancholie.
But stay, whose this? inhumane wretch.
Bloud-thirsty miscreant, is this thy handy work?
To kill a woman, a harmelesse Ladie?
Villain prepare thy self, draw, or Ile sheath my faucheon in thy sides.
There take the guerdon fit for murderers.
Gustus offers to run at Somnus, but being suddainly charmed fall's a sleep.
SOM.
Heer's such a stir I never knew the Senses in such disorder.
LING.
Ha, ha, ha; Mendacio, Mendacio? See how Visus hath broke his fore-head against the oak yonder, ha, ha. ha, ha.