nd any god or goddess--To be any
thing the more god or goddess, for their names:--He gives them all
free license--To speak no wiser than persons of baser titles;--And
to be nothing better, than common men, or women.--And therefore no
god--Shall need to keep himself more strictly to his goddess--Than
any man does to his wife:--Nor any goddess--Shall need to keep
herself more strictly to her god--Than any woman does to her
husband.--But, since it is no part of wisdom,--In these days, to
come into bonds;--It shall be lawful for every lover--To break
loving oaths,--To change their lovers, and make love to others,--As
the heat of every one's blood,--And the spirit of our nectar, shall
inspire.--And Jupiter save Jupiter!

Tib. So; now we may play the fools by authority.

Her. To play the fool by authority is wisdom.

Jul. Away with your mattery sentences, Momus; they are too grave
and wise for this meeting.

Ovid. Mercury, give our jester a stool, let him sit by; and reach
him one of our cates.

Tuc. Dost hear, mad Jupiter? we'll have it enacted, he that speaks
the first wise word, shall be made cuckold. What say'st thou? Is it
not a good motion?

Ovid. Deities, are you all agreed?

All, Agreed, great Jupiter.

Alb. I have read in a book, that to play the fool wisely, is high
wisdom.

Gal. How now, Vulcan! will you be the first wizard?

Ovid. Take his wife, Mars, and make him cuckold quickly.

Tuc. Come, cockatrice.

Chloe. No, let me alone with him, Jupiter: I'll make you take heed,
sir, while you live again; if there be twelve in a company, that
you be not the wisest of 'em.

Alb. No more; I will not indeed, wife, hereafter; I'll be here:
mum.

Ovid. Fill us a bowl of nectar, Ganymede: we will drink to our
daughter Venus.

Gal. Look to your wife, Vulcan: Jupiter begins to court her.

Tib. Nay, let Mars look to it: Vulcan must do as Venus does, bear.

Tuc. Sirrah, boy; catamite: Look you play Ganymede well now, you
slave. Do not spill your nectar; carry your cup even: so! You
should have rubbed your face with whites of eggs, you rascal; till
your brows had shone like our sooty brother's here, as sleek as a
horn-book: or have steept your lips in wine, till you made them so
plump, that Juno might have been jealous of them. Punk, kiss me,
punk.

Ovid. Here, daughter Venus, I drink to thee.

Chloe. Thank you, good