And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,
70 Where thou thyself dost air;—the queen o’ the sky,
Whose watery arch and messenger am I,
Bids thee leave these; [and with her sovereign grace],
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,
To come and sport:—[her] peacocks fly amain:
IV. 1. 75 Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.
Enter Ceres.
Cer. Hail, many-colour’d messenger, that ne’er
Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter;