Mar. Stay, here's another person.
Enter Gerasto, (as Mars.)
Ger. Come lovely Venus, leave this lower Orb,
And mount with Mars, up to his glorious Sphere.
Bust. How now, what's he:
Flo. I'm ignorant what to do, Sir.
Ger. Thy silver-yoke of Doves are in the Team,
And thou shalt fly through Apollo's Beam:
I'll see thee seated in thy golden Throne,
And hold with Mars a sweet conjunction. [Exit.
Bust. Ha? what fellow's this? has carried away my Sister Venus:
He never rehears'd his part with me before.
Jul. What follows now Prince Paris?
[Flor. within.——H[e]lp, help, help.
Bst. Hue and cry, I think Sir, this is Venus voice,
Mine own Sister Flori[m]els.