The white cold virgin snow upon my heart
Abates the ardour of my liver.
Pros. Well.
Now come, my Ariel! I bring a corollary,
Rather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly!
No tongue! all eyes! be silent.
[Soft music.
Enter Iris.
Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats and pease;