Song.
Hymen, god of marriage-bed,
Be thou ever honoured:
Thou, whose torch's purer light
Death's sad tapers did affright,
And instead of funeral fires
Kindled lovers' chaste desires:
May their love
Ever prove
True and constant; let not age
Know their youthful heat t' assuage.
2.
Maids, prepare the genial bed:
Then come, night, and hide that red,
Which from her cheeks his heart does burn;
Till the envious day return,
And the lusty bridegroom say,
I have chas'd her fears away,
And instead
Of virgin-head,
Given her a greater good:
Perfection and womanhood.
Thyr. Thanks, good Mirtillus; this indeed was proper
Unto your subject.
Mir. Your thrice-happy match
Being but now come to my knowledge, made me
Contract myself into a straiter room
Than the large subject might afford.
Cle. The king!
To these Euarchus, Eubulus.
Euar. Although I wonder, yet I do believe thee,
My faithful councillor.
Eub. Your majesty
Has found me always real; but this truth
The oracle's accomplishment will prove,
That did foretell their match.