Let me surveighe th'ascent: happy occation!
To see howe redy still the devill is
To helpe his servants! heare's a ladder left:
Upp, Fryare, my purpose is to admitt you nowe
Of a newe cloyster. I will sett his body
Upright in the knights porche and leave my patron
To answer for the falt, that hath more strength
Then I to tugge with Benches.
[_Exit. Carry him up_.
_Enter the knight, half unredy, his Lady after him_.
_D'Avern_. Ho, _Denis_!
_Lady_. Give mee reason, I intreate,
Of these unquiet sleepes.
_D'Av_. You dogg mee, Lady,
Lyke an Ill genius.
_Lady_. You weare woont to call mee
Your better angel.
_D'Av_. So I shall doo still,
Would you beetake you to your quiet sleepes
And leave mee to my wakinges.
_Lady_. There beelonges
Unto one bedd so sweete a sympathy,
I canott rest without you.
_D'Av_. To your chamber!
There may growe els a woorse antypathy
Beetwixt your love and myne: I tell you, Lady,
Myne is no woman's busines. No reply:
Your least insured presence att this tyme
Will but begett what you would loathe to beare,
Quarrell and harshe unkindnes.
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