Imo.
Who's there? My Woman Helen?

Lady.
Please you, Madam—

Imo.
What Hour is it?

Lady.
Almost Midnight, Madam.

Imo.
I have read three Hours then, mine Eyes are weak,
Fold down the Leaf where I have left; to Bed—
Take not away the Taper, leave it burning:
And if thou canst awake by four o'th' Clock,
I prithee call me—Sleep hath seiz'd me wholly. [Exit Lady.
To your protection I commend me, Gods,
From Fairies, and the Tempters of the Night,
Guard me, beseech ye. [Sleeps. [Iachimo rises from the Trunk.

Iach.
The Crickets sing, and Man's o'er-labour'd Sense,
Repairs it self by rest: Our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the Rushes, e'er he waken'd
The Chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
How bravely thou becom'st thy Bed! Fresh Lilly,
And whiter than the Sheets! That I might touch,
But kiss, one kiss—Rubies unparagon'd,
How dearly they do't—'Tis her Breathing that
Persumes the Chamber thus: the Flame o'th' Taper

Bows toward her, and would under-peep her Lids,
To see th' inclosed Lights, now Canopy'd
Under the Windows, White and Azure, lac'd
With Blue of Heav'ns own tinct—but my Design's
To Note the Chamber—I will write all down,
Such, and such Pictures—there the Window,—such
Th' Adornment of her Bed—the Arras, Figures—
Why such, and such—and the Contents o'th' Story—
Ah, but some natural Notes about her Body,
Above ten thousand meaner Moveables
Would testifie, t' enrich mine Inventory.
O Sleep, thou Ape of Death, lye dull upon her,
And be her Sense but as a Monument,
Thus in a Chappel lying. Come off, come off,— [Taking off her Bracelet.
As slippery as the Gordian-knot was hard.
'Tis mine, and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the Conscience do's within,
To th' madding of her Lord. On her left Breast
A Mole Cinque-spotted—Like the Crimson Drops
I' th' bottom of a Cowslip. Here's a Voucher,
Stronger than ever Law could make: This Secret
Will force him think I have pick'd the Lock, and ta'en
The Treasure of her Honour. No more—to what end?
Why should I write this down, that's rivetted,
Screw'd to my Memory. She hath been reading late,
The Tale of Tereus, here the Leaf's turn'd down
Where Philomele gave up—I have enough,
To th' Trunk again, and shut the Spring of it.
Swift, swift, you Dragons of the Night, that dawning
May bear the Raven's Eye: I lodge in fear,
Though this a heav'nly Angel, Hell is here. [Clock strikes.
One, two, three: Time, time. [He goes into the Trunk, the Scene closes.

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