Soft Musicke, chaire is set vnder a Canopie.
Kin. Sound Musicke, thou sweet suiter to the ayre,
Now wooe the ayre agen, this is the houre,
Writ in the Calender of time, this houre,
Musicke shall spend, the next and next the Bride;
Her tongue will read the Musicke-Lecture: Wat
I loue thee Wat, because thou art not wise;
Not deep-read in the volume of a man,
Thou neuer sawst a thought, poore soule thou thinkst,
The heart and tongue is cut out of one peece,
But th’art deceau’d, the world hath a false light,
Fooles thinke tis day, when wise men know tis night.
Enter Sir Quintilian.
Sir quint. My Leige, they’re come, a maske of gallants.
King. Now——the spirit of Loue vshers my bloud.
Sir quin. They come.
The Watch-word in a Maske is the bolde Drum.
Enter Blunt, Crispinus, Demetrius, Philocalia, Petula, Dicache, all maskt, two and two with lights like maskers: Cælestine in a chaire.
Ter. All pleasures guard my King, I heere present,
My oath vpon the knee of duety: knees
Are made for Kings, they are the subiects Fees.
King. Wat Terrill, th’art ill suited, ill made vp,
In Sable collours, like a night peece dyed,
Com’st thou the Prologue of a Maske in blacke;
Thy body is ill shapt; a Bride-groome too
Looke how the day is drest in Siluer cloth,
Laide round about with golden Sunne-beames: so
(As white as heauen) should a fresh Bride-groome goe.
What? Cælestine the Bride, in the same taske?
Nay then I see ther’s mistery in this maske,
Prethee resolue me Wat?
Ter. My gracious Lord,
That part is hers, she actes it; onely I
Present the Prologue, she the misterie.