So when a dream our wandring eyes betrays,
And to our side some hidden gold conveys;
Our busie hands the inviting treasure seize,
And hid in guilty folds the fancy'd prize.
Sweating we fear lest any conscious spy,
Might search our bosom, and the theft descry.
But with our sieep when all our joys are o're,
And minds restor'd to what they were before,
Concern'd, we wish the fancy'd loss regain'd,
And with the image still are entertain'd.
This misfortune might make me justly think it not only a true vision,
but real witchcraft; for I had so long lost my strength I cou'd not
rise: My mind at last, a little freed, began by degrees to recover its
vigour, upon which I went to my lodging, and dissembling a faintness,
lay down on the bed. A little after Gito, being inform'd I was ill,
came to me, much troubl'd; but to allay his concern, I told him I was
only a little weary, and had a mind for a nap. Several things I talkt
to him of, but not a word of my last adventure, for I was afraid
because I knew he envy'd every one that had a charm for me, and to
prevent his suspicion, throwing my arms about him, I endeavour'd to
give a proof of my love; but disappointed of the expectation I had
rais'd him to, he rose very angry from my side, and accusing my
weakness, and strange behaviour to him, told me that of late he had
found my chief favours were bestow'd in another's arms.
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