For all my sleep is turned into a fire,
And all my dreams to stuff that kindles it.


CHORUS.

Yet one doth well being patient of the gods.


ALTHAEA.

Yea, lest they smite us with some four-foot plague.


CHORUS.

But when time spreads find out some herb for it.


ALTHAEA.

And with their healing herbs infect our blood.


CHORUS.

What ails thee to be jealous of their ways?


ALTHAEA.