Upon her aged knees with zealous tone
[700]Says, 'Heaven's messenger, what is't you would?'
Th' amazed lord with wonder quarrelled long,
Ere he could unvoice his silenced tongue.
'Madam,' says he, 'why pay you reverence?
Why are you guilty of th' adoring sin?
'Tis a delusion of your weak'ned sense,
I am no Cherub, Pow'r, nor Seraphin.
The heralds style me Rivelezzo's Don,
Your friend and servant, with a cap and con—'