MER. Well, for once, I'll suffer you to win upon me, wag; but use
not these strains too often, they'll stretch my patience. Whither
might you march, now?
CUP. Faith, to recover thy good thoughts, I'll discover my whole
project. The huntress and queen of these groves, Diana, in regard
of some black and envious slanders hourly breathed against her, for
her divine justice on Acteon, as she pretends, hath here in the
vale of Gargaphie, proclaim'd a solemn revels, which (her godhead
put off) she will descend to grace, with the full and royal expense
of one of her clearest moons: in which time it shall be lawful for
all sorts of ingenious persons to visit her palace, to court her
nymphs, to exercise all variety of generous and noble pastimes; as
well to intimate how far she treads such malicious imputations
beneath her, as also to shew how clear her beauties are from the
least wrinkle of austerity they may be charged with.
MER. But, what is all this to Cupid?
CUP. Here do I mean to put off the title of a god, and take the
habit of a page, in which disguise, during the interim of these
revels, I will get to follow some one of Diana's maids, where, if
my bow hold, and my shafts fly but with half the willingness and
aim they are directed, I doubt not but I shall really redeem the
minutes I have lost, by their so long and over nice proscription of
my deity from their court.
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