Serv. The poet, sir, will take that very ill; He's at the door, with the argument o'the masque In verse.
Man. Which of the wits is it that made it?
Serv. None of the wits, sir; 'tis one of the poets.
Man. What subject has he chose?
Serv. The rape of Proserpine.
Enter GONSALVO.
Man. Welcome, welcome, you have been long expected.
Gons. I staid to see the unlading of some rarities, Which are within— Madam, your pardon that I was so long absent.
Jul. You need not ask it for your absence, sir.
Gons. Still cruel, Julia?