Phy.  Indifferently well.

Io.  I wish him better.

Phy.  How?

Io.  Vice-gerent in Hell.

Phy.  Doest thou wish so for ought that he hath done?

Io.  I, for the love he beares unto his sonne.

Phy.  Hees growne of late as fatherly and milde
As ever father was unto his childe,
And sent me forth to search the coast about
If so my hap might be to finde him out;
And if Eurymine alive remaine
To bring them both vnto the Court againe. 
Where is thy maister?

Io.  Walking about the ground.

Phy.  Oh that his Love Eurymine were found.

Io.  Why, so she is; come follow me and see; He bring ye strait where they remaining bee.

[Exeunt.

Enter three or foure Muses, Aramanthus, Ascanio,
Silvio, and Gemulo.

Asca.  Cease your contention for Eurymine,
Nor word nor vowes can helpe her miserie;
But he it is, that did her first transform,
Must calme the gloomy rigor of this storme,
Great Phoebus whose pallace we are neere. 
Salute him, then, in his celestiall sphere,
That with the notes of cheerful harmonie
He may be mov’d to shewe his Deitie.

Sil.  But wheres Eurymine? have we lost her sight?

As.  Poore soule! within a cave, with feare affright,
She sits to shun Appollos angry view
Until she sees what of our prayers ensue,
If we can reconcile his love or no,
Or that she must continue in her woe.

1 Mu.  Once have we tried, Ascanio, for thy sake,
And once againe we will his power awake,
Not doubting but, as he is of heavenly race,
At length he will take pitie on her case. 
Sing therefore, and each partie, from his heart,
In this our musicke beare a chearfull part.

    SONG.

All haile, faire Phoebus, in thy purple throne!  Vouchsafe the regarding of our deep mone; Hide not, oh hide not, thy comfortable face, But pittie, but pittie, a virgins poore case.

      Phoebus appeares.

1 Mu.  Illustrate bewtie, Chrystall heavens eye,
Once more we do entreat thy clemencie
That, as thou art the power of us all,
Thou wouldst redeeme Eurymine from thrall. 
Graunt, gentle God, graunt this our small request,
And, if abilitie in us do rest,
Whereby we ever may deserve the same,
It shall be seene we reverence Phoebus name.

Phoe.  You sacred sisters of faire Helli[c]on,
On whom my favours evermore have shone,
In this you must have patience with my vow: 
I cannot graunt what you aspire unto,
Nor wast my fault she was transformed so,
But her own fond desire, as ye well know. 
We told her, too, before her vow was past
That cold repentance would ensue at last;
And, sith herselfe did wish the shape of man,
She causde the abuse, digest it how she can.