We have the selfe-same passages for Nature With mortall men; our pulses beate like theirs: We are subiect unto passions as they are.

Go, Iris, go and my commandment take And beate against the doores till sleepe awake: Bid him from me in vision to appeare Vnto Ascanio, that lieth slumbring heare,

Yet since my minde beates on it mightelie, And though I thinke it vaine, if you vouchsafe, Ile make a triall of the truthe hereof.