Tib.  So; now we may play the fools by authority.

Her.  To play the fool by authority is wisdom.

Jul.  Away with your mattery sentences, Momus; they are too grave and wise for this meeting.

Ovid.  Mercury, give our jester a stool, let him sit by; and reach him one of our cates.

Tuc.  Dost hear, mad Jupiter? we’ll have it enacted, he that speaks the first wise word, shall be made cuckold.  What say’st thou?  Is it not a good motion?

Ovid.  Deities, are you all agreed ?

All, Agreed, great Jupiter.

Alb.  I have read in a book, that to play the fool wisely, is high wisdom.

Gal.  How now, Vulcan! will you be the first wizard?

Ovid.  Take his wife, Mars, and make him cuckold quickly.

Tuc.  Come, cockatrice.

Chloe.  No, let me alone with him, Jupiter:  I’ll make you take heed, sir, while you live again; if there be twelve in a company, that you be not the wisest of ’em.

Alb.  No more; I will not indeed, wife, hereafter; I’ll be here:  mum.

Ovid.  Fill us a bowl of nectar, Ganymede:  we will drink to our daughter Venus.

Gal.  Look to your wife, Vulcan:  Jupiter begins to court her.

Tib.  Nay, let Mars look to it:  Vulcan must do as Venus does, bear.

Tuc.  Sirrah, boy; catamite:  Look you play Ganymede well now, you slave.  Do not spill your nectar; carry your cup even:  so!  You should have rubbed your face with whites of eggs, you rascal; till your brows had shone like our sooty brother’s here, as sleek as a horn-book:  or have steept your lips in wine, till you made them so plump, that Juno might have been jealous of them.  Punk, kiss me, punk.

Ovid.  Here, daughter Venus, I drink to thee.

Chloe.  Thank you, good father Jupiter.

Tuc.  Why, mother Juno! gods and fiends! what, wilt thou suffer this ocular temptation?

Tib.  Mars is enraged, he looks big, and begins to stut for anger.

Her.  Well played, captain Mars.

Tuc.  Well said, minstrel Momus:  I must put you in, must I? when will you be in good fooling of yourself, fidler, never?

Her.  O, ’tis our fashion to be silent, when there is a better fool in place ever.

Tuc.  Thank you, rascal.

Ovid.  Fill to our daughter Venus, Ganymede, who fills her father with affection.

Jul.  Wilt thou be ranging, Jupiter, before my face?

Ovid.  Why not, Juno? why should Jupiter stand in awe of thy face,
Juno?

Jul.  Because it is thy wife’s face, Jupiter.

Ovid.  What, shall a husband be afraid of his wife’s face? will she paint it so horribly? we are a king, cotquean; and we will reign in our pleasures; and we will cudgel thee to death, if thou find fault with us.

Jul.  I will find fault with thee, king cuckold-maker:  What, shall the king of gods turn the king of good-fellows, and have no fellow in wickedness?  This makes our poets, that know our profaneness, live as profane as we:  By my godhead, Jupiter, 1 will join with all the other gods here, bind thee hand and foot, throw thee down into the earth and make a poor poet of thee, if thou abuse me thus.