CUP. Indignity not to be borne!
MER. Nay rather, an attempt to have been forborne.
[THE SECOND DANCE ENDS.]
CUP. How might I revenge myself on this insulting Mercury?
there's Crites, his minion, he has not tasted of this water?
[WAVES HIS ARROW AT CRITES.] It shall be so. Is Crites
turn'd dotard on himself too?
MER. That follows not, because the venom of your shafts cannot
pierce him, Cupid.
CUP. As though there were one antidote for these, and another
for him?
MER. As though there were not; or, as if one effect might not
arise of diverse causes? What say you to Cynthia, Arete,
Phronesis, Time, and others there?
CUP. They are divine.
MER. And Crites aspires to be so.
[MUSIC; THEY BEGIN THE THIRD DANCE.]
CUP. But that shall not serve him.
MER. 'Tis like to do it, at this time. But Cupid is grown too
covetous, that will not spare one of a multitude.
CUP. One is more than a multitude.
MER. Arete's favour makes any one shot-proof against thee, Cupid.
I pray thee, light honey-bee, remember thou art not now in Adonis'
garden, but in Cynthia's presence, where thorns lie in garrison
about the roses. Soft, Cynthia speaks.
CYN. Ladies and gallants of our court, to end,
And give a timely period to our sports,
Let us conclude them, with declining night;
Our empire is but of the darker half.
Pages:
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207