Al. What, does that heavenly Venus produce any Thing but Souls then?
Mu. Yes, she gives Bodies to the Souls; but such Bodies, as shall be exactly conformable to 'em, just as though you should put a choice Ointment into a curious Box of Pearl.
Al. Where is she then?
Mu. Look, she is coming towards you, a pretty Way off.
Al. Oh! I see her now. O good God, how bright she is! How majestical and beautiful she appears! The t'other Venus compar'd with this, is a homely one.
Mu. Do you see what modest Cupids there are; they are no blind ones, such as that Venus has, that makes Mankind mad? But these are sharp little Rogues, and they don't carry furious Torches, but most gentle Fires; they have no leaden-pointed Darts, to make the belov'd hate the Lover, and torment poor Wretches with the Want of a reciprocal Affection.
Al. In Truth, they're as like their Mother as can be. Oh, that's a blessed House, and dearly belov'd by the Gods! But may not a Body hear the Marriage-Song that you design to present 'em with?
Mu. Nay, we were just a-going to ask you to hear it.
CLIO. Peter hath married fair Cornelia, Propitious Heaven! bless the Wedding-Day.
MELPOMENE. Concord of Turtle-Doves between them be, And of the Jack-daw the Vivacity.