Enter Janus.
Janus. Chronos, Chronos, mend thy pace;
An hundred times the rolling sun
Around the radiant belt has run
In his revolving race.
Behold, behold, the goal in sight,
Spread thy fans, and wing thy flight.
Enter Chronos, with a Scythe in his hand, and a Globe on his back; which he sets down at his entrance.
Chronos. Weary, weary of my weight,