The confusion of Ambrosio’s mind now began to appease. He rejoiced in the fortunate issue of his adventure, and reflecting upon the virtues of the myrtle, looked upon Antonia as already in his power. Imagination retraced to him those secret charms betrayed to him by the enchanted mirror, and he waited with impatience for the approach of midnight.

The crickets sing, and man’s o’er-laboured sense

Repairs itself by rest: our Tarquin thus

Did softly press the rushes, ere he wakened

The chastity he wounded⁠—Cytherea,

How bravely thou becom’st thy bed! Fresh lily!

And whiter than the sheets!

Cymbeline