Was e'er poor god so worried? but for my love,
I wish I were in heaven again with Juno. [Aside.
Alc. Then I, it seems, am last to be regarded?
Jup. Not so, my love; but these obstreperous tongues
Have snatched their answers first; they will be heard;
And surely Jove would never answer prayer
That woman made, but only to be freed
From their eternal noise. Make haste to bed;
There let me tell my story, in thy arms;
There, in the gentle pauses of our love,