my gratitude for his honourable services, to bestow on him five
hundred English pounds, making my just excuse, I had it not before
within my power to reward him._ [_Lays down the paper._] And was it
then for this I sought his life? Oh base, degenerate Spaniard! Hadst
thou done it, thou hadst been worse than damned: Heaven took more care
of me, than I of him, to expose this paper to my timely view. Sleep
on, thou honourable Englishman; I'll sooner now pierce my own breast
than thine: See, he smiles too in his slumber, as if his guardian
angel, in a dream, told him, he was secure: I'll give him warning
though, to prevent danger from another hand.
[_Writes on_ TOWERSON'S _paper, then sticks his dagger in it._
Stick there, that when he wakens, he may know,
To his own virtue he his life does owe. [_Exit_ PEREZ.

TOWERSON _awakens._

_Tow._ I have o'erslept my hour this morning, if to enjoy a pleasing
dream can be to sleep too long. Methought my dear Isabinda and myself
were lying in an arbour, wreathed about with myrtle and with cypress;
my rival Harman, reconciled again to his friendship, strewed us with
flowers, and put on each a crimson-coloured garment, in which we
straightway mounted to the skies; and with us, many of my English
friends, all clad in the same robes. If dreams have any meaning, sure
this portends some good.--What's that I see! A dagger stuck into the
paper of my memorials, and writ below--_Thy virtue saved thy life!_ It
seems some one has been within my chamber whilst I slept: Something of
consequence hangs upon this accident. What, ho! who waits without?
None answer me? Are ye all dead? What, ho!

_Enter_ BEAMONT.