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ugh to make us kind enough to one another. Tuc. Nor thou hast not collied thy face enough, stinkard. Alb. I'll ply the table with nectar, and make them friends. Her. Heaven is like to have but a lame skinker, then. Alb. Wine and good livers make true lovers: I'll sentence them together. Here, father, here, mother, for shame, drink yourselves drunk, and forget this dissension; you two should cling together before our faces, and give us example of unity. Gal O, excellently spoken, Vulcan, on the sudden! Tib. Jupiter may do well to prefer his tongue to some office for his eloquence. Tuc. His tongue shall be gentleman-usher to his wit, and still go before it. Alb. An excellent fit office! Cris. Ay, and an excellent good jest besides. Her. What, have you hired Mercury to cry your jests you make? Ovid. Momus, you are envious. Tuc. Why, ay, you whoreson blockhead, 'tis your only block of wit in fashion now-a-days, to applaud other folks' jests. Her. True; with those that are not artificers themselves. Vulcan, you nod, and the mirth of the jest droops. Pyr. He has filled nectar so long, till his brain swims in it. Gal. What, do we nod, fellow-gods! Sound music, and let us startle our spirits with a song. Tuc. Do, Apollo, thou art a good musician. Gal. What says Jupiter? Ovid. Ha! ha! Gal. A song. Ovid. Why, do, do, sing. Pla. Bacchus, what say you? Tib. Ceres? Pla. But, to this song? Tib. Sing, for my part. Jul. Your belly weighs down your head, Bacchus; here's a song toward. Tib. Begin, Vulcan. Alb. What else, what else? Tuc. Say, Jupiter Ovid. Mercury--- Cris. Ay, say, say. [Music Alb. Wake! our mirth begins to die; Quicken it with tunes and wine. Raise your notes; you're out; fie, fie! This drowsiness is an ill sign. We banish him the quire of gods, That droops agen: Then all are men, For here's not one but nods. Ovid. I like not this sudden and general heaviness amongst our godheads; 'tis somewhat ominous. Apollo, command us louder music, and let Mercury and Momus contend to please and revive our senses.
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