Acut.  I, would ye so fain enter? ile further it:  please it your Maiestie to accept what is not worth acceptance? heere are a company to Gratulate these nuptials, have prepard a show—­I feare not worth the sight—­if you shall deeme to give them the beholding of it.

Caes.  Else should we wrong their kindnes much. Accutus, be it your care to give them kindest welcome; we cannot recompence their loves without much beholdings.

Acut.  Now for the cunning vizarding of them & tis done.

Hostis.  Now we shall beholde the showes.

Get. Acteon and his Dogs, I pray Jupiter.

    Enter the maske and the Song.

Chaunt birds in everie bush, The blackbird and the Thrush, The chirping Nightingale, The Mavis and Wagtaile, The Linnet and the Larke, Oh how they begin, harke, harke.

Scil.  S’lid, there’s one bird, I doe not like her voice.

Sing againe & Exeunt.

Hostis.  By my troth, me thought one should be my husband, I could even discerne his voice through the vizard.

Cittie wife.  And truely by his head one should be mine.

Get.  And surely by his eares one should be my sweet heart.

Caes. Accutus,[324] you have deserved much of our love, but might we not breake the law of sport so farre as to know to whome our thankes is due, by seeing them unmaskt and the reason of their habits?

Acut.  Most willingly, my Soveraigne, ile cause their returne.

Hostis.  Oh excellent! now we shal see them unmaskt. [Exit.

Get.  In troth, I had good hope the formost had bene Acteon, when I saw his hornes.

Cit. wif.  Sure the middlemost was my husband, see if he have not a wen in his forehead.

    Enter Maskers.

Host.  God blesse thee, noble Caesar, & all these brave bridegroomes, with their fine little dydoppers, that looke before they sleep to throw away their maiden heads:  I am host of the Hobbie, Cornut. is my neighbour, but wele pull of his bopeeper; thou’t know me by my nose, I am a mad merie grig, come to make thy grace laugh; sir Scillicet my guest; all true canaries, that love juce of grapes, god blesse thy Maiestie.

Acut.  How now, mine Host?

Host.  Ha, ha, I spie a jest.  Ha, ha, Cornutus, Cornutus.

Acut.  Nay, mine host, heeres a moate in your eye to [sic].

Scil.  S’lid, I hope they have not serv’d me so; by the torrid y’are an asse, a flat Asse, but the best is I know who did it; twas either you or some body else; by gad, I remember it as wel as if it were done now.

Host.  T[h]ou shalt answer it to my leige, ile not be so misused, ye have a wrong element, theres fire in my face, weele mount and ascend.  I’me misused, the mad comrades have plaide the knaves.  Justice, my brave Caesar.