A NEW OPERA, CALLED, Cynthia and Endymion: OR, THE Loves of the Deities. As it was Designed to be Acted at COURT, before the late QUEEN; and now Acted at the Theatre Royal, by His MAJESTY's Servants.  
The Second Edition.  
Written by Mr. D'VRFEY.  
LONDON: Printed by W. Onley, for Sam. Briscoe, in Russel-street, Covent-garden; and R. Wellington, at the Lute in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1697.  
☞ The Relapse: or, Virtue in Danger. Being the Second Part of; The Fool in Fashion. A Comedy, acted at the Theatre Royal.  
A new Opera, called, Brutus of Alba: or, Augusta's Triumph. Acted at the Theatre in 〈◊〉 Garden. With Variety of new Songs. Both sold for Sam. Briscoe, in Covent-Garden.   

The Names and Characters of the Representers in the Opera, morally fashioning the Virtues and Vices of Human Nature.  

JVpiter  
Cynthia, Representing Greatness and Honour, attacked by natural Frailty and wavering Passion.  
Apollo, Representing Wit and Love, slighted by obstinate Pride.  
Cupid, Representing Desire, wanton and unsatisfied.  
Psyche, Representing innocent Virtue, o'ercome by insinuation, Opportunity and Love.  
Daphne, Representing affected Pride and Ill-nature.  
Pan, Representing Ignorance and Credulity.  
Mercury, Representing Subtileness, Wantonness and Inconstancy.  
Endymion, Representing Modesty, Integrity and Good-nature.  
Syrinx, Representing irregular Passion, Treachery and Envy.  
Gods, Goddesses, Neptune, Amphitrite, Pactolus, Ganges, Tiber, Thames, Saturnia, Pleiades, Zephyrus, Shepherds, Satyrs, Singers, Dancers, and Attendants.   
The Scene jonia, with Mount Latmus.   

To the Right Honourable, HENRY, Earl of Rumney, Viscount Sidney, Master-General of his Majesty's Ordinance, one of his Majesty's most Honourable Privy-Council, Constable of Dover-Castle, and Lord-Warden of the Cinque-Ports.  
My LORD,  
BE pleased, from your humble and most obliged Servant, to accept this Offspring of my Muse, which I am the more encouraged to lay at your Feet, because it formerly had the Honour to be looked upon with a gracious Regard by the best of Queens, of late happy and glorious Memory, before whom it had been presented in her Court, if the ensuing National Fatality, had not, in the interim, unfortunately happened; however, not to let it be entirely a Prey to ill Destiny, I have, with great Care and Pains, at last, made shift to strip it from its Mourning, into a Dress proper to be seen by the Town, tho' it may want that Illustration which the Court-Ornament had adorned it with: And therefore most humbly beg your Lordship to make one Addition more to the many repeated Condescensions and Favours you have conferred on me, which is, to let it be honoured with a Place in your Esteem; and then I shall never have occasion to value what Malice, Ill-nature, or any unjust Criticism, shall inveterately expose to its Prejudice.  
You are one, my Lord, that all Eyes are so much upon, all Hearts so much inclined to honour, serve, and love, and all Pens so obliged and ready to praise, that, tho' my Heart be as full of desire to do it as is possible, yet I find there is no place left void for me to express my Duty; there is nothing to be said, which has not been already, and perhaps too with more Advantage on the Writer's side, than I have Partiality enough for myself to pretend to.  
There is another significant Reason too, my Lord, which wholly deters me from the common Custom of Poets and Dedicators, which is, your Scorn and Detestation of Flattery, wherein you nobly imitate the Royal Inclination and Humour of our Glorious Master, King WILLIAM, who never failed to show his frowning Dislike of that Frenchified Vice, nor ever gave Encouragement for its Seeds to be planted and grow in his Dominions: To whom I wish Eternal Honour, Successful Victory, and Long Life: And that you, my Lord, in reward of your Indefatigable Duty, Care and Zeal for his Service, may always be happy in the Station you now are in. The Blessing of his Smiles and Favour, is the Perpetual Wish of,  
My LORD, Your Lordship's most entirely devoted humble Servant, T. D'URFEY.   

PROLOGUE to Cynthia and Endymion.  The Scene is a pleasant Country, in which appears, by an artificial Sun just setting, Mount Latmus, with pleasant Valleys round it; some full of Corn, others with Fruit; a Gloominess on the sudden o'respreads the Stage, till after a while Saturnia, representing Night, ascends from the Stage, and Sings: Saturnia. 
THe weary, hot and amorous God of Day,  
Desends into the Bosom of the Sea,  
To revel there some pleasant Hours away,  
And I, succeeding Regent of the Night,  
Till mighty Cynthia rises with new Light,  
O'er all the gloomy World extend my awful sway:  
Nature is gone to rest, and Humankind,  
Possessed with Peace of Mind,  
Enjoy, what in these Groves, the happy Shepherds find;  
Appear my Dazzling Pleiades, appear,  
Cynthia intends, to Night, to revel here;  
Come, come away,  
Come, come away,  
Adorned each in her glittering Robe, and shame Approaching-day.  Enter the Pleyades, Electra, Alcinoe, Caleno, Tagete, Asterope, Maia, and Merope; they join in a Figure like the Seven Stars; as they appear, the Scene becomes more light; then Merope prepares to Sing: Merope. 

BEhold the Daughters of famed Atlas come,  
Adorned with Lustre at great Night's command;  
Through ambient Air ten thousand Leagues from home,  
We come to Visit blessed Ionia's Land.   

II.  
Say mighty Queen of Shades what's to be done!  
What Wonders must the bright Virgiliae do?  
Are we to Mutiny against the Sun,  
And let Mankind no more his Splendour view?   Saturn. 
No, no, no, no, that's too severe,  
No blemish must in your bright Forms appear;  
Let Faction be by drossy Mortals shown,  
The purer starry Region must have none:  
joy is your business now, joy and Delight,  
Great Cynthia comes to revel here to Night.  Merope. 
Then since the Affair is all Dancing and Play,  
My lightfooted Sisters shall trip it away,  
So brisk that the Swains,  
That inhabit the Plains,  
Shall all at the Sight,  
Have a Passion for Night,  
And remember no more the dull Charms of the Day. 
* Dance▪   Saturn. 
Bright Star, Sweet Merope, this grant of thine,  
Shall make thee equal with my Planets shine;  
For now the hour draws near, and to my Sense,  
Methinks I feel loved Zephirus' Influence;  
The Charming Zephir, fragrant breezes blows,  
See where he comes perfuming every Rose,  
And shedding Sacred Odours as he goes.  Enter Zephyrus. Sings this to a Minuit Tune. Zephir. 

Night, dear Promoter of Lover's Felicity,  
Thou sweet Attoner for Cares of the Day,  
Happy disguise of a Virgin's simplicity,  
Whose guilty Blushes her Heart would betray;  
Thou sweet Concealer of her Intrigue,  
Which the Day would reveal,  
When to a private Bower,  
At some Mid-night-hour, whilst the old Dad do snore,  
To her Love she would steal.   

II.  
Then the extremes of true joy are most ravishing,  
When silent Hours indulge our Delight,  
Whilst happy Mortals, Loves Treasures are lavishing,  
Day still they rail at, but bless the kind Night:  
Day the cursed cause of Mortal Debate,  
Pride, Ambition and Cares,  
With Sol lies dreaming,  
Where Thetis is streaming,  
Whilst Night, Love and Fate  
Rule the World's grand Affairs.   Sat. 
I know, I know, and more am pleased  
That we are from his gaudy Beams released;  
For by a Light that breaks through yonder Skies,  
And a bright Crescent that does rise:  
Cynthia I see draws near,  
Great Cynthia in her Splendour will appear.  GRAND CHORUS. 
Let Nature than revel in Joy and Delight,  
Let Cynthia and jove be the Chorus to Night,  
The God of all Power, and Goddess of Light.   

EPILOGUE to the OPERA.  Mr. Dogget, dressed like Collen, rises from under the Stage as frighted. 
OH!— oh!—  Groans. 
From Crowds of Rogues, that did, like me, rebel;  
Good People, I am just now scaped from Hell,  
By lucky Fortune, and Apollo's Grace,  
(I shall love Wit the better all my Days)  
Reprieved from Pluto's smoky Dungeon-hole;  
A Convert, to save yours and my own Soul.  
Ah, Critics! leave off then, to Damn our Rhimes,  
Lest you are Damned yourselves these devilish Times;  
For, had you seen what I have seen below,  
Such Reformation would amongst you grow,  
You'd hear the Parson oftener than you do;  
You'd have a wiser Relish of what ill is,  
And damn no more your poor Souls, for your Phillis,  
Your Cloris, Daphne, or your Amarillis;  
You'd leave the wanton Dabbling in the Palm,  
No more Chant Bawdy Songs, but Howl a Psalm:  
Little did I think, in that Station, new,  
To find so much Acquaintance 'mongst that Crew;  
But there they were! A sad Tale, but 'tis true;  
The Quoif, the Cassack, Red-coat, and the Blue,  
The Cit., the Lawyer, and the Soldier bold,  
And more damned Vintners than the place would hold;  
Yet, for all these, the Virtuoso's there,  
If I observed right, were Hell's choicest Ware,  
Much more regarded than the duller Fry,  
The Devil of late loves learned Company.  
Time was, a House-breaker was a fine Guest;  
But now, he's for a Wit, that breaks a jest:  
And has for each Degree peculiar Rooms,  
Fit Offices for every one that comes;  
For th' Lord, is the large Dining-room assigned;  
The Bedchamber, for th' Lady that is kind;  
The low Mechanic, is a Kitchen-dweller;  
For Pimps, the Hall; for Poets, is the Cellar;  
For Plotters, a huge Slaughter-house they frame,  
Where one expected was, of noted Fame;  
Fer, fer,- fer, fer,- I'm sure you know his Name:  
I asked, If he, e'er yet, had seen his Room?  
'Twas answered, No: But he was sure to come.  
shocked at that News, I ran away, for fear;  
And, finding Friends, made shift to get up here,  
An humble Penitent now,— as true and loyal  
As are the glittering Sunbeams to the Dial.  
Take good Example then, and mend your Lives;  
Beat all your Whores, good Sirs, and Buss your Wives;  
On Wit no more a barbarous Censure pass,  
But let Good-nature show that you have Grace;  
So you may have the Peace you wish the Land,  
And Tallies and New Money answer your Demand.   

CYNTHIA and ENDYMION.  
A Dramatic Opera.  
ACT I.  The SCENE appears more lightened; Variety of Birds are heard Singing; and several Flutes, as supposed, played on by the Inhabitants, Shepherds then. Enter Apollo, dressed like a Shepherd; with him Endymion. Apol. 
Hark! Hark, Endymion! Listen to these Strains,  
The skilful Breath of some contented Swains,  
That know the Soul of Life is Harmony:  
Mind every Note, observe each softening Cadence;  
And when thou hast done feasting thy pleased Ear,  
Then tell me if Apollo is not wretched,  
Beyond the basest Mortal here below.  Endim. 
Divine Apollo, jove will soon relent,  
Finding his Glories dearkned by the Loss  
Of the chief Light of his Eternal Palace,  
The God of Music, Wit, and Poetry;  
As he is just, he's merciful: I once proved it,  
When an abhorred Detractor, the Court being here,  
Envying the Grace I found in Juno's Eyes,  
Strove to possess him, that she was too kind;  
Then urged him straight to doom me, for Presumption,  
To take a Drug brought out of Hell from Proserpina,  
Which could cause Sleep perpetual: But jove,  
Scorning his Malice, raised me more to Favour,  
And so, no doubt, e'er long he will Apollo.  
Banish your Grief then, and unclowd your Eye;  
These Strains, alas! are dull, when you are by.  Apol. 
Once I indeed was Sovereign of Arts,  
When through the dazzling Empire of the Sky,  
No Deity aspiring to be famed  
Durst vie with me to please my Heavenly Father;  
The Lucid Glories circled round my Head;  
And when I sung, and touched my charming Lyre,  
None durst presume to equal, but admire.  Endim. 
Are ye not still the same?  Apol. 
Oh no, 'tis gone:  
My Godhead now is dwindled to Mortality,  
My Triumphs turned to Sorrow, which still drop  
From my full Eyes, like Showers of Winter Rain;  
I now retain no Spark of what's Above,  
Or of Divinity, but that I love.  Endim. 
The ambitious Son of Neptune, the fierce Cyclops,  
That forged the Thunder for the King of Gods,  
Slain by your Hand, I know first caused your Exit:  
But of your Love, till now, I nothing knew;  
Sure great Apollo is not unsuccessful.  Apol. 
Whiter than Parian Marble, but as cold  
Is the Celestial Nymph that I adore;  
She has a Face where Beauty sits in State,  
Adorned with blooming Sweets, two Starry Eyes,  
Bright as her Soul, so Heavenly languishing,  
So full of liquid Love, and sprightly Joy,  
That an old Critic, dogged from his Cradle,  
And bred unnatural, would gaze and wonder;  
A Glance should so confound Philosophy;  
Her Name is Daphne.  Endim. 
Then I know her well,  
She now has Residence in Cinthia's Court.  Apol. 
So Hermes told me on Acerisus Bank,  
Where late I kept the King Admetus' Sheep,  
In whose Degree Jove's dreadful Rage then placed me:  
For her Sake, lovely Youth, I wander here,  
Courting the mournful Shades obscurely,  
The worst of Mortals now, tho' late a Deity.  Endim. 
If Love Omnipotence a Curse designed,  
I am most Cursed of all poor Human Kind;  
Beauty o'er me so absolute does Reign,  
I think it Heaven to Love, although in vain:  
Yet all must own the Passion Great and Noble;  
A Joy the best of all the Gods has sighed for,  
And to obtain it changed Immortal Being.  
Oh! Cynthia, thou Extreme of Excellence.  Aside. 
But hold, rash Tongue, thy helpless Woe conceal,  
This Mystery, Fate only must Reveal.  Enter Hermes. Hermes. 
Endymion, from the Starry Queen I come,  
To Summon your Attendance at their Revils;  
By leave from jove to finish an Affair,  
Of some great Consequence, she lately here Descended.  
But yet, as if he blamed her Curiosity,  
He smiling gave Command, that for a Month,  
The time ordained for her Abode on Earth,  
That she, and all of us should be Translated,  
And in a Mortal State be Subject to  
The Accidents, Passions, and Punishments  
Of this Inferior World. You'll have good Sport faith,  
For ten to one some of our Gods fly out  
To try their new Humanity: For my part  
If I 'scape Whipping-post, or Stocks, I'm happy.  Endim. 
With eager Duty I obey the Summons;  
'Twill be some Pleasure to stand gazing by,  
For tho' it starve my Heart, 'twill feast my Eye.  Exit Endim. Herm. 
Wonder invades my Sense, yet no disguise,  
Can hide the great Apollo from my Eyes:  
I know that Awful, Godlike Form too well;  
And know, besides, 'twas Daphne brought him hither.  
Oh! Love, how powerful is thy Decree,  
'Mongst all the Gods, sure I shall envy thee.  
How blessed are those caught in thy charming Snare;  
And yet how blessed am I whose Heart's as free as Air.  Apollo. 
You're merry, Hermes.  Hermes. 
Brisk as the wanton Winds,  
That kiss the Beauty of the blooming Spring:  
I have no Female-tyrants to torment me,  
Employed with my two Trades, Lying and Stealing:  
I've been so full of Business, Love is routed,  
I have no time for silly Sighs and Whinings;  
The most attractive Nymphs I dare defy,  
And all the Shafts in Love's Artiliry.  Apollo. 
Take heed, he'll be revenged, unless by Art,  
You steal away the Weapons that should wound ye.  Herm. 
By Styx, I'll do't, if e'er I catch him sleeping.  
Last night I stole out one of Juno's Teeth;  
And 'twould have made you laugh to to see the Goddess  
Mumping her Chops, and mumble her Ambrosia,  
Like an old Wrincled Beldame at a Feast.  Apoll. 
No doubt 'twas good diversion.  Herm. 
But the most pleasant Theft that e'er I made,  
Was upon Venus when I stole her Cestos:  
When cunning Zephir fanned her Tinsel-robe,  
Discovering the white World of naked Beauties,  
To all the wondering Synod of the Gods.  Apoll. 
Since your dislike of Love has made you Wise,  
I think I ought to Court you for Advice.  
What think you of a Woman?  Herm. 
As a Creature,  
That a Man is cheated with by Partial Nature.  
A fine gay coloured Weed, a guilded Pill,  
A dear, damned, pretty, necessary Ill  Apoll. 
Yet Men their Praise in loftiest Wit express.  Herm. 
That's but a smother carrying on the Jest,  
And make the coy Fools easier to Possess.  Apoll. 
But Constancy in Love.  Herm. 
Sure never was.  
'Tis a dull Notion to explain an Ass.  
The constant Wretch that does but one adore,  
Has neither Wit, or Courage, to Love more.  Apoll. 
This Vice of Roving's natural to Hermes.  
But prithee Friend go and Solicit for me,  
Thou hast a winning Tongue, practice on Daphne:  
Tell her my Love, in influencing Words,  
Gain her, and make Apollo thine for ever.  Herm. 
If Lying, which you know is my chief Talon,  
Will work upon her, she shall have enough on't.  
I'll go, and my best Skill on th' Instant prove,  
And if a wheedling Tongue, or Tears can move,  
The God of Wit shall never die for Love.  Exit Herm. Apoll. 
By my Heart's throbbing anguish it appears,  
That with Mortality I have its Cares.  
Ah! why should Love a Torment prove to me,  
That is to others a Felicity?  
The Harmony that times their jarring Strife,  
And sweetens all the Cares of anxious Life:  
Crowning a Mortal with as blessed a Fate,  
As a superior Power that did Create.  Here a Symphony of Flutes and Hautboys are heard. Apoll. 
By these delightful Sounds that charm my Ear,  
Too well I find the God of Love is near:  
And see he comes Triumphant through the Sky,  
Bourn by the Winds that Kiss him as they fly.  
In Pan's close Covert I'll myself conceal;  
I dare not tempt new Wounds till the old can heal.  Exit Apollo. Cupid Descends, attended by Zephyrus. Cupid. 
By Jove's high State, and all the Court divine,  
Once more I swear fair Psyche must be mine.  
Whilst from his Palace slily I stole down,  
To Exercise my Power on haughty Cynthia,  
In this her Interval of Mortal State,  
Because she still above defied my Power,  
By matchless Beauty I am caught myself:  
Oh! she is whiter than my Mother's Doves,  
Nay, than my Mother's self, the Queen of Loves.  
More Innocent than Virtue in Perfection;  
And young as th' Morning, when the rosy Nymph,  
Blushes to leave the Bosom of her Lover.  
With my own Hand I took my fatal Dart,  
And wounded, ere I was aware, my Heart.  
And now I Rave, I Love to that degree,  
To gain her, I'd renounce Divinity.  
Yonder she comes: Sing Zephyrus, O! sing,  
Some happy Strain, some gentle moving thing:  
Whilst I with subtle Practice play my part,  
And steal into her Fancy by my Art.  Enter Psyche. 

The First Song by Zephyrus.  

I.  
MVsing on Cares of Human State,  
In a sweet shady Grove;  
A strange Dispute I heard of late,  
'Twixt Virtue, Fame, and Love:  
A Swain that wanted grave Advice,  
Their nice Opinions craved,  
How he might to Elezian rise,  
Or get a Place beyond the Skies,  
Or how he might be Saved.   

II.  
Nice Virtue preached Religion's Laws,  
Paths to Eternal Rest;  
To Aid his King, and Country's Cause,  
Fame counselled him, was best.  
But Love opposed each noisy Tongue,  
And thus their Votes outbraved:  
Get, get a Mistress Fair and Young,  
Love fiercely, constantly, and long,  
And then thou shalt be Saved.   

III.  
Swift as a thought the Amorous Swain,  
To Silvia's Cottage flies,  
In soft Expressions told her plain,  
The way to heavenly joys:  
She who with Piety was stored,  
Her Bliss no longer waved,  
Pleased with the God they both adored,  
First smiled, then took him at his word,  
And this they both were Saved.    Enter Psyche. Psyche. 
Cloyed with the noisy 〈◊〉, the Seat of Care,  
As I each Evening hither came for Air,  
Harmonious sounds fill all the hallowed Grove,  
A charming Comfort, singing tales of Love.  
Sure jove his Sacred Choir does hither bring,  
But what, Oh! what, is Love, of what they sing?  Cupid. 
Love is what does all mortal Joy control,  
The best and noblest Passion of the Soul.  
Jove's kindest Gift; for, by its Rapture, we  
May find the bliss of Immortality.  
Sit down fair Charmer, and for your delight,  
Love, that has fed your Ear, shall please your Sight.  Psyche. 
What Heavenly Visions in this place appear?  
And what a beauteous Godlike thing is here?  
Not to sit by him, were myself to wrong,  
For sure he cannot hurt me he's so young.  A Dance of Cupid's Lovers here. Cupid. 
Now does not Love all other Joys excel?  Psyche. 
Alas! what have you done? I am not well.  
Methinks I feel an aching throbbing Pain,  
Here at my Heart.  Cupid. 
That shall be gone again.  Psyche. 
Shall it, oh! when?  Cupid. 
Dear Charmer, when you prove  
So kind to bless me with the fruits of Love.  Psyche. 
The fruits of Love! do I the Garden know?  
Are they Fruits! where do they grow?  
The Pain does now my Heart so strangely seize,  
I would give any thing to purchase Ease.  Cupid. 
But these are not the Fruits that you must grant.  Psyche. 
I sigh, and wish, and know not what I want;  
Tell me, what are they?  Cupid. 
You must kiss me.  Psyche. 
Fie.  Cupid. 
Love and embrace me.  Psyche. 
For the World, not I:  
I never heard so confident a Boy.  Cupid. 
A Boy! Do not my Courage by the Stature scan;  
Kiss me, and you shall find I am a Man;  
Turn this way, Sweet, and the soft Blessing prove  
The dear Preparative to Rapture Love.  Psyche. 
He wins upon me strangely, and his Tongue  
I fear would charmmy Heart, should I stay long.  
And see, methinks, his Frame is altered quite,  
And now he's grown up to a manly Height.  
Psyche, away, to Cynthia straight retire,  
Her Name's a Charm to quench all amorous Fire.  
Cynthia the Chaste, sworn Foe to loose Desire.  
In the Perfection of all Virtues bright,  
Serene and pure, as her own Orb of Light.  Cupid. 
Cynthia, nor all the Deities above,  
Have Power enough to make Defence from Love;  
And since a Kiss your Error makes you blame,  
Cynthia you so adore should do the same.  Psyche. 
What? Kiss a Man!  Cupid. 
So let me gain Love's Fruit,  
As you on Latinus-top shall see her do't.  Psyche. 
If not, shall I be free?  Cupid. 
Free as the Air.  Psyche. 
Then I am near the end of all my Care;  
For Cynthia never can commit such Faults,  
Her Lips must be as guiltless as her Thoughts.  Cupid. 
Great Ones, oft scorched with secret Passion, mourn,  
Tho' outwardly no Fire is seen to burn.  
That Cynthia loves, in spite of all her Power,  
I'll quickly prove, or may I never more  
Be charmed by those bright Eyes I so adore.  Exit Cupid. Psyche. 
If that chaste Goddess can enamoured be,  
Love never can be thought a Crime in me;  
Since 'tis for him in whom all Graces meet.  
Heavens! how he charmed! Was ever Tongue so sweet?  
The Kiss he sued for how I longed to grant;  
His the Petition was, but mine the Want.  
Would I had never seen that lovely Creature,  
Or else had been of more obdurate Nature;  
For now methinks I languish for his fake,  
And fear to lose a Good I fear to take.  Exit Psyche. 
The End of the First Act.   

ACT II.  Cupid returns with Zephyrus. Cupid. 
SHe's mine, she's mine; mine in every tender Part;  
Love revels now, and centres in her Heart;  
The kindling Sparks within her Breast take Fire;  
Care in her Looks, and in her Heart Desire.  
Yet still my Promised Justice to pursue,  
Proud Cynthia, is to sigh and languish too;  
Which I'll perform in th'Instant with a View.  
She comes! Stay Zephyrus, and wait her here,  
And power the soft Infection in her Ear;  
I through the Air will instantly take Wing,  
And hover o'er the Covert whilst you sing.  Cupid Ascends. SCENE discovers a beautiful Garden, at the further End of which is a Bower, adorned with Flowers and Trophies of Luna, Cynthia, and Proserpina; a Throne fixed, over which a Full Moon appears in a serene Sky: Then enter Attendants with Banners, bearing the Inscription, Cynthia, than Hermes, Endymion. Then Enter Cynthia richly dressed, attended Psyche, Daphne, Syrinx, and Pleyades; Neptune, Amphitrite, Pactolus, Ganges, Tiber, Thames, etc. they divide on both sides the Stage, till Neptune prepares to Sing. Neptune Sings. 
FRom the vast Empire of the Sea below,  
Whose secret State no Mortal ere can know,  
From Coral-groves, and Banks of Pearl and Ore,  
And watery Caves, where Nature hoards her Store,  Lo Neptune does arise, 
Lighted by charming Amphetrite's Eyes,  
To welcome the bright Goddess of the Skies:  
Proud Aeolus to day shall lose his Power,  
The Wind shall rage no more,  
But with a gentle Breeze  
Shall languish o'er the Seas,  
Whilst Cinthia's glorious Name,  
Great Cinthia's glorious Name,  
Shall with repeated Echoes bless the Shore.  Zephyrus Sings. Zeph. 
Each River and murmuring Spring,  
In honour of Cynthia shall sing,  
Who fills us with joy and Delights,  
And guilds with her Beauty our Nights:  
For half our Lives Pleasure were gone,  
By losing the Light of the Sun,  
If she did not counterfeit Noon,  
And supply the Defect by a Moon.  Pactolus Sings. Pactol. 
I come the mighty Neptune to obey,  
The great and happy Monarch of the Sea;  
Far as the famous Asian Strands  
I daily glide o'er Golden Sands;  
Yet when he calls ne'er durst delay,  
But curl my shining Locks, and straight obey.  Ganges Sings. Ganges. 
And I, that still amongst the swarthy Moors  
Rowl, roll, roll out my tedious Hours,  
In true Obedience hither come with joy..  Tiber Sings. Tib. 
And so do I  Pactol. 
And so do I  Ganges. 
And I.  Omnes. 
And all with equal Haste, with equal joy..  Tiber. 
But first came I  Pactol. 
And then came I  Ganges. 
Then I.  Omnes. 
And all with equal Haste, with equal joy,  
And all, etc.  Thames Sings. Tham. 
I must confess, were I like you,  
Than I should be obedient too;  
But know ye puny shallow Streams,  
That I the deep, wealthy, and beauteous Thames,  
That by Augusta, famous for her Stores,  
Wash the delightful Shores,  
Had never this way bent my crooked Course,  
Had Neptune not controlled my Will by force:  
For, like our Natives, I've the common Evil,  
Of Plenty proud, and stubborn as the Devil.  Neptune Sings. 
Ye Sons of the Ocean, say what's to be done,  
The Thames is rebellious and mutinous grown.  Pactol. 
He never no more shall his City oblige,  
For we'll dam up his Current just close to the Bridge.  Ganges. 
Importing of Goods, and his Trading shall fall,  
And Citt with his Spouse walk on Foot to Fox-hall.  Tib. 
The Mayor at his Triumph shall grudge at his Charges,  
And swear there's not Water enough for his Barges.  Amphitrite Sings. Amph. 

Kneel, O kneel, thou stubborn Creature,  
Still there's Pity in his Eyes,  
Neither Anger nor ill Nature  
In his Sacred Bosom lies.   

(2.)  
Let thy watery Nymphs around thee  
In loud joy their Duty show,  
Lest great Neptune should confound thee,  
Keeping back thy Ebb and Flow.   

(3.)  
Sabrin, Tamar, Ooze in order  
To divert your Goddess come,  
Else your Crime to punish further,  
Men shall walk where Fishes-swam.   

(4.)  
Thames shall be dried up for ever,  
If he now dares disobey;  
And what was a famous River,  
Shall be soon the King's Highway.   Thames Sings. Tham. 
See, I obey: Appear, appear  
My beauteous Daughters all, and revel here:  
When Power formidable grows,  
'Tis Folly to oppose.  
This let Augusta know,  
To whom I all my stubborn Humours owe;  
And still am to her ancient Maxim just,  
I do obey; I do, because I must.  Grand Chor. 
Each River and murmuring Spring,  
In Honour of Cynthia.  Here Cynthia descends, and comes forwards.] Cinth. 
To seek Apollo exiled here below,  Aside. 
To cheer his Sorrows, and Jove's Pardon show,  
I come— tho 'tis not fit that these should know.  
A Secret of the Gods must Sacred be,  
'Tis Chance on Earth, in Heaven 'tis Mystery.  Omnes. 
Hail, Cynthia, hail, Night's glittering Deity.  Cinth. 
When mighty jove my Breast did influence  
With mystic Rules of his Celestial Sense,  
Humility he sacredly Assigned,  
As the most charming Virtue of the Mind.  
Therefore, tho' Power unlimited I bear,  
And can, whenever I please, unsheathe it here;  
Yet now resolved a mortal State to try,  
I for a Month will lay my Godhead by;  
My Lustre veil, from yond bright Orb remove,  
And rank with every Virgin of the Grove.  Syrinx. 
What an attractive Grace! Inviting Air!  Aside. 
What a Heart-wounding Eye, and Cheek as fair  
As in their Glory full-blown Roses bear,  
Has that Endymion? Oh! I love so well,  
I fancy every Glance or Blush will tell.  Herm. 
Through all the Nations of the Universe,  
Where is a Place that's like jonia blessed?  
Virtue and Beauty their old Claims renew,  
And their Divine Perfection take from you:  
Since your Approach the Groves refined have been,  
And the wildest Shepherds now forget to sin.  Endim. 
All Vice from their rebellious Blood is driven,  
And now the talk of you equal with Heaven;  
Should you another Month these Lawns possess,  
The Court of jove would suffer a Disgrace,  
And famed jonia prove the holier Place.  Cinth. 
Oh Vice of Courts! How wretched should I be,  
If I were pleased to hear this Flattery?  Daph. 
In this soft-tongued Endymion you may find  
The vile Epitome of all his Kind.  
Men are the grand Originals of Vice,  
Trained up in Mischief, Treachery and Lies;  
Debauched in Nonage, profit not by Rules;  
To Fools are Wits, but witty womens' Fools;  
Betrayers of our Liberties and Rest,  
And she that 'scape them is for ever blessed.  Psyche. 
Tho' some are bad, sure all Men are not so:  
Have they no Mark by which a Maid may know?  
If in my Bosom any Ill could be,  
My very Blushes would discover me.  
My Eyes the Falsehood of my Heart betray.  Syrinx. 
Poor Ignorance, thou art of Yesterday,  
Else thou wouldst know we are as false as they.  
As skilled in all the Doubles of the Mind,  
Deceit; Fool, is the Character of our Kind;  
For which of us e'er vowed her Love was true,  
That had not first learned to dissemble too.  
Men must be fooled, and when this Art we prove,  
Fraud stands for Truth, Hypocrisy for Love.  Cinth. 
O thou Defamer to thy Sex, a Curse,  
Rude Pan himself would not expose 'em worse.  
The blasting Breath of Envy could not place  
A worse Detraction on the Female Race.  
Men well may hear Invectives against them,  
If thus they one another do condemn.  
Let Music sound, dull Love or Flattery is  
A Subject fitter to be heard than this.  Music here. Cupid hovers o'er. Cupid. 
Now at my wished Haven to arrive,  
I must a deep and subtle Plot contrive:  
Infect proud Syrinx with a jealous Rage,  
Which nought but Revenging can assuage.  
Whilst Cynthia does for her Endymion pine,  
And for his Love, wish she were less Divine.  Ascends. Cinth. 
How my transported Soul this Music charms!  
How strangely, how effectually it warms!  
My Heart's new tremblings troubles my repose,  
My cold chaste Zeal too, on the Instant glows.  
I rave, and now think jove of mean degree;  
For yonder Youth seems more a God than he.  
Heavens! I'm lost, for still the more I gaze,  
The more I dote upon his charming Face.  
Hence from my sight thou Soncerer! away!  To Endim. 
By all my Fame, Death punishes thy stay.  
From her high Sphere, can Cynthia ever bow?  
To meet a Fate, so despicably low.  
Immortal Gods! if ever this can be,  
May my own Stars against me Mutiny.  
May my Illustrious Brother mount his Throne.  
Ordain new Sway, and rule the World alone:  
Let Order cease through all the Earth, and Sky;  
Matter confused, in huddled Atoms lie:  
And Nature lose its Course, rather than I.  
My Fate, and Fame in my own Orb must move,  
Or there's no Deity worth Cinthia's Love.  Exeunt. 
The End of the Second Act.   


ACT III. SCENE I.  A covered Grotto at the end of a spacious Plain, adorned with Maypoles, decked with Trophies, Garlands; Herds of Sheep and Goats, at a distance feeding. Enter a satire running with Flora in his Arms; after him Hobinal, Clout, Tarbox, and Lowbell, fighting with three or four Satyrs. Hobinal runs to Flora, whom the satire le's go to help his Fellows. Hob. 
AH! well done, well done, Son Clout; I Clout has one down.] fack, thwack him, thwack him; what hoa Neighbour, Collen, down with the shaggy Ruffians. What hoa, Neighbour Calls a another's side.] Collen, what hoa.  Low. 
Stick to him, Tarbox, turn the Butt-end of thy Staff to him, Boy; help, help, there's another Goat upon him.  Tar. 
I warrant thee I have him by the beard, Boy. The satire is helped up.] I'll spoil his whiskers.  Hob. 
Neighbour Collen, Neighbour Collen, what hoa, stand there Flora, and done't be afraid. What have they odds of us; nay then have at ye.  Fight again, then Enter Collen with a flail, and beats of the Satyrs. Collen. 
Cheer, cheer, Neighbour's cheer, let me come to 'em, I'll thrash the Rogues, I'll maul 'em.  Hollow within, then re-enter.] Low. 
They are as swift-footed now as Stags; now we have drubbed their Mettle up, they run like Greyhounds.  Tar. 
Gadslidlikins, Neighbour Collen laid about him lightly.  Hob. 
Ah! he thrashed 'em faith, thank ye heartilly, good Neighbour I'm hugely obliged to ye; and how does my Girl, hum.  Clout. 
How is't Buddy, hah. How dost do Chick, he has not hurt, has he?  Flora. 
No, not much, he made my Arms ache a little with squeezing me so hard when he took me up first, and the bristles of his Beard has made my Face smart a little, but I'm well every where else.  Clout. 
Ee poor Buddy, I'm glad on't fackins.  Coll. 
But hark ye, hark ye, how began this Hubbub, Neighbours? come let me know all.  Hob. 
Why to be short then, Neighbour Collen, for I know you are a wise Man, and can see into a Millstone without Spectacles. You must know we live in a most confounded condition, under this same Goat-faced God, Pan, here, and his shagrag Family, our Wives and Daughters are not safe one hour of the day for 'em.  Low. 
An hour, no not a minute, Neighbour; why now for my part, I'm fain to milk my Cattle myself, I dare not send my Wife out not I, for fear of meeting 'em, and having her own Milk spoiled.  Coll. 
Well let Tarbox speak, Come Neighbour what say you?  Tar. 
Why they wont so much as let a Cheese stand upon the shelf, but they'll ravish that too, they'll ravish any thing, nothing comes amiss to 'em, Neighbour.  Hob. 
Body o' me, I'm mortified when I think on't; why Neighbour I did but send the poor Girl out a door to the Well to fetch a Pitcher of water, and whip, one of these hairy Rag-muffins had trust her up, as a Hawk does a Partridge: and had'nt we come just in the nick, and relieved her, they would have used her as we do a wheaten Loaf, every one by this time would have had a slice.  Coll. 
And for a Loaf not cup up before, troth, one slice might have been missed Neighbour.  Clout. 
Gadsdiggers! and than I should have had a fine Crust, that am to marry her next Moon; for she's my Sweetheart you must know, Master Collen. Art not Flora? hah Lamb.  Flora. 
Yes, so my Mother says; but hark ye, what shall I be the better for being so?  Clout. 
Oh! a great deal Chick, a great deal, when thou com'st to understanding. There, there's a Plumb-Cake for my Lamb.  Flora. 
Oh good! here's a pure kind Sweetheart: well, I'm resolved now I will have him.  Clout. 
Go, go home Buddy, and dip it in the Cream Pan, do Lamb.  Flora. 
Oh! God, so I will Ivads.  Exit Flora. Hob. 
Ah! poor fool. And thus we are served Neighbour's, ever since they came hither, by this rampant God Pan, and his followers: but Gadzooks Sir, I have it in my head, d'ye hear Neighbours: We'll Rebel and Right ourselves; we'll live no longer under his Government: let's resolve on't.  Coll. 
Why, ay Sirs, now you come to the matter. Hark ye, bring your Ears nearer to me, and listen to what I say: If you'll be of my mind, you shall not only care a straw for this God Pan, but for never a one in the whole pack. In short, Neighbours, we can live without 'em; what you have heard of me, I hope, han't ye? why folks call me thrasher of the Gods, I am always at open jars with them, they ne'er oblige me as I would have it, with Corn, Pease, Beans, and so forth; nor I them their way, for I ne'er go to Prayers, nor ne'er will; and see who will have the worst on't.  Clout. 
Good Lord! 'tis strange, now to see how folk differ now, I say my Prayers morning and night, Gadsdiggers I'm afraid to go to sleep else.  Coll. 
Why there 'tis now, I could ha' told him that by his Face; I can discover a praying Loggerhead, by his pale tallow Phiz, as certainly as a drinker of Brandy by his red Nose.  Low. 
Nay for my part, I can't say much for their Godships not I, but yet methinks, for this same Cynthia that's comes among us here, to light us to bed, and save Candles, I can't but think her a virtuous good body enough.  Coll. 
Pshaw, prithee don't talk of her Virtue, she can never be good that goes by so many Names, 'tis the trick of a Slut Neighbours; believe me, in one place she's Luna, in a second she's Proserpina, and here, now she's Cynthia; come without mealy mouth'dness, she's a Jilt, Gadsbud; why what a plaguy trick did she serve that poor Huntsman, Ac-Ac-Acteon, I think they call him, the honest harmless Fellow chanced to come by the Pond as she was washing her— he happened to give a grin on her, or some such small matter, when presently what does she do, but bewitches him with the scent of a hard run Stag, gave an Hollow, and then set his own Dogs upon him.  Tar. 
Ay that was barbarous, introth Neighbours; then they say here's her Brother Paul, Paul, what d'ye call him? Apollo, Apollo lies lurking about her too, and comes smelling after a coy Wench, Daphne.  Coll. 
Why what a noise there's made too about his Wit, and Music, why, 'tis true, the fellow's a good tolerable Harper, and can break a jest at a City Wedding, or so, that's all, he killed a little rattle-Snake tother day, and ha, ha, ha, he's so proud on't, ever since; besides that Daphne uses him like a mere Nincompoop, she makes him carry her Slippers, or mend her Stockings, she makes him a mere changeling.  Omnes. 
A Collen, a Collen, a Collen.  Clout. 
Well but Neighbour Collen this God, as you say, may have but small parts, but pray let's hear what you can say against jupiter: what can you say against him?  Coll. 
What have I to say against jupiter, why how now Clout, what thou wilt not beard me, wilt thou? what have I to say against him: Come, prithee what hast thou to say for him? Hum, let me alone Neighbours.  Low. 
Ay, ay, Neighbour, let him say that. Go on, Clout, go on.  Clout. 
Why then, Odsheartlikins, I must say that this jupiter is of all the rest, the most powerful: when he's pleased, the World rejoices, but bless us, when he's angry, Oh! how I tremble at his Lightning and Thunder.  Coll. 
Oh! Lord, did you ever hear such a damned silly puppy, come you shall hear me tell the whole story of him. Look ye, this same jupiter you must know being sent as soon as he was born, away by his Mother, amongst the Couribaates, a sort of poor fellows that belonged to Powder-mills, for fear his greedy gut Father Saturn, who used to breakfast on all his Malebrats, should eat him, got the knack there of making Sky-Rockets, Squibbs, and such like, and now when the maggot bites him, he's always whizzing and popping 'em about, and this poor Animal takes 'em for Lightning and Thunder; ha, ha, ha. Hark ye, Neighbour Hob, bid him tell us ere a one of his friend Jupiter's good deeds, and then you shall see how I'll feague him.  Hob. 
Hark ye, Clout, Come, let's hear one of Jupiter's good Deeds? come?  Clout. 
Good Deeds; why I heard he conquered the monstrous Giants, which I think folks call Titau's, and released his old Father from Prison.  Coll. 
Ay, and when 'twas done, went home with him to his Palace, and lay with his own Sister— good.  Omnes. 
A Collen, a Collen, a Collen, hay.  Coll. 
Come, come, prithee go on to the rest of 'em.  Clout. 
Why then, but that he's a little too fat and foggy for a jolly companionly sort of God, what think you of Bacchus?  Coll. 
Why just as much as he thinks of any body else, that is nothing; for he gets drunk as soon as he rises, and is past thinking all the day after.  Tar. 
Why, marry then Neighbour, what d'ye say to him? he's a brave God.  Coll. 
Ay, so the crack goes of him, he is a fighting God, ah! God help him; would I were to play three Bouts at Flail with him, I'd try whose Sconce was hardest: I'd spoil his Cuckold-making for one month I warrant ye.  Omnes. 
hay, a Collen, a Collen, a Collen, hay.  Low. 
But hold Neighbours, there's Cupid, there's a little pretty sweet God for ye.  Coll. 
What d'ye call him? 'sbud if you had him grumbling in your Guts, as I had once, you'd think him as bitter as Wormwood, Gadsooks, that Urchin, Dandiprat, with a little sneaking Bow and Arrows, does more mischief than all the rest of 'em together: But come now, I'll spare ye the trouble now, of naming the rest, and show ye at once what a sad pack of Fellows these Deities are, as they call themselves.  Omnes. 
Ay, come, let's hear.—  Collen. 
In the first Place, then for our Home-Deity, God Pan's Worship here; why you see by his Horns and Goat's Phiz, he's a Monster: jupiter a lewd unconscionable Whoremaster: Apollo a sneaking Cully, and Fiddler Bacchus a Sot, Mars a Bully, Mercury a Thief, and Cupid a Pimp: Then to couple 'em neatly with their Goddesses, Juno's an envious Scold, Cynthia's an inconstant Jilt, Pallas an Hermaphrodite, Proserpina a Hag, Ceres a Slut, and Venus a Whore, to my Knowledge.  Omnes. 
A Collen, a Collen, hay.  Collen. 
To end the Matter then, Neighbours, I declare I'm for a Commonwealth; let us therefore, nemini conumdiscendre, plot against these Gods aforesaid, and their Government: We'll have no longer Arbitrary-Power: We'll bring 'em down to the Station of Constables; Then any one of us, Neighbours, may hope to come into Office in his Turn.  Omnes. 
hay, a Collen, a Collen, hay.  Enter Flora. Flora. 
Father, forsooth, my Mother stays for ye to Dinner.  Hob. 
Come Neighbours, my Son Clout has a pure Sloop of good liquour within, we'll tap it before the Wedding to entertain Neighbour Collen: Son Clout invites 'em all in.  Clout. 
With all my Heart I fackins, and kindly welcome, as I may say.  Tar. 
What Neighbour, you're resolved to couple to morrow then?  Clout. 
Why truly Neighbour, the short and the long is, Flora and I have a great Mind to try one another's good Luck: she has considered the worst on't.  Low. 
But is not the Heifer too little to wear the Yoke, Neighbour? You'll think of that, I hope.  Clout. 
Why truly I have examined Matters as narrowly as I can, and her Mother is of the Opinion— no: and she's a very knowing Woman Neighbour. Speak Lamb: What did Mother say?  Flor. 
She said she was as little every bit herself when she was married, and that it would do me no hurt at all.  Clout. 
Law ye there now: Besides the Buddy, there be short she's tydy.  Collen. 
Well, and what Mucsik, what Gambols are ye to have Neighbour?  Clout. 
Why Fackins not much: but there will be the Pipe and Tabor, and Blind Will with his Dulcimer: And then the Frying-Pan and Tongues.  Collen. 
Well, and I'll give thee a Zong: And thou shalt have a Zaumple o● presently if thou wilt.  Clout. 
Ay, Gadsookers, with all my Heart, sweet, Master Collen.  Omnes. 
Ay, Ay, with all our Hearts, with all our Hearts.  

colin's SONG.  

I.  
'TWas when the Sheep were shearing,  
And under an Oaken Tree,  
Dick gave to Doll a Fairing,  
Resolved her Love to be.  
I long, Sweetheart, to bed with thee,  
And tho' I cannot woo,  
I've hey pish, hay puh, hay foo, hay for a Boy.  
Sing, shall I come kiss thee now.  
Methinks I long to bed thee,  
And merrily buckle to.  
With hay pish, hay puh, hay foo, hay for a Boy,  
Sing, shall I come kiss thee now.   

II.  
Doll seemed not to regard him,  
As if she did not care:  
Yet simpered when she heard him  
Like any Miller's Mare.  
And cunnnigly to prove him,  
And value her Maidenhead,  
Cried fie, nay pish, nay fie, and prithee stand by,  
For I am too young to wed;  
She said she ne'er could love him,  
Nor any Man else in Bed.  
Then fie pish, fie, nay pish, nay prithee stand by,  
For I am too young to wed.   

III.  
Like one that's struck with Thunder,  
Stood Dicky to hear her talk,  
All hopes to get her under,  
This sad resolve did balk;  
At last he swore, grown bolder,  
He'd hire some common Sow:  
For hay pish, hay fie, hay for a Boy,  
Sing shall I come kiss thee now.  
In loving Arms did fold her,  
‛ Ere sneak, and cringe, and cry,  
With hay pish, hay fie, hay for a Boy,  
Sing shall I come kiss thee now?   

IV.  
Convinced of her coy Folly,  
And Female stubborn Will,  
Poor Doll grew melancholy,  
The Grist went by her Mill;  
I hope, she cried, you're wiser  
Than value what I have said;  
If I do cry nay fie and pish, and prithee stand by,  
That I am too Young to wed;  
Bring you the Church Adviser,  
And dress but the Bridal Bed,  
Then try tho' I cry fie and pish, and prithee stand by,  
If I am too Young to wed.    Clout. 
Well, this will be curious, I'll say't: Come, come, now let's home and tope it lustily.  Hob. 
Ay, to the Downfall of our monstrous God Pan.  Low. 
And the rest of 'em I say,  Tarb. 
Ay, Ay, and the rest: We'll do well enough without 'em, as Neighbour Collen says.  Collen. 
Odds heartlikins, here he comes, and the Humdrum Harper with him: We must get out of their Sight: Away, away, Boys.  Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  Enter Pan guarded with Satyrs, with him Apollo. Pan. 
Rough as I am, and in my Nature wild,  
Bred up in Rural Caves 'mongst Savages  
That know no Worth, nor understand no Reason;  
Yet shall Apollo in his Welcome find,  
That Pan, tho' doomed to Rustical Society,  
Knows how to value such Excess of Merit,  
Tho' he wants Words t' express it.  Apollo. 
In Acts of Friendship there's small need of Words,  
And therefore Pan may fairly have Excuse.  
Had foolish Midas when he praised thy Pipe,  
Extolled thy Courtesy and honest Nature,  
Apollo had been baffled even in both.  Pan. 
My Father, tho' the God of Eloquence,  
Yet could not spare me a Child's Portion, therefore  
Take my well Meaning for my Compliment.  
By Syrinx, whom I love at my Heart's Root,  
Once more I swear Apollo is most welcome.  Ap. 
Once more my Thanks to Pan; but hush, no Murmurs,  
For if my Eyes deceive me not here comes  
The swift-winged Pursuivant of jove.  Enter Mercury. Pan. 
'Tis he— how fares my Father Hermes?  Ap. 
Welcome, kind Mercury.  Merc. 
Health to Apollo, and to Offspring Pan,  
To whom I carry most surprising News:  
For at the bottom of yond rising Hill,  
Close by a silver Brook that girdles in  
A Thicket, crowned with Jasamin and Roses;  
I saw his Souls best Part the lovely Syrinx,  
Weary with hunting stretched at her full length  
Lie sighing loud, discovering Worlds of Beauties,  
Unveiled and careless to the Amorous Winds.  Pan. 
Perhaps she's wounded, and may now be dead,  
Oh dreadful Sound! Away, I'll seek her instantly,  To his Guards. 
And all my choicest Drugs I'll carry with me:  
'Mongst which I've some that can e'en Life retrieve  
From th' Jaws of Fate, others that can destroy,  
Just at a moment, and some of that strange Nature,  
They in a Mortal swooned and deadly Sleep,  
Can seize on all the Offices of Life,  
Whole Years, nay Ages, tell me, good Progenitor,  
Was she not wounded?  Merc. 
Faith, Boy, I hope she was not, but can't swear.  Pan. 
I go, I fly, excuse my eager haste, since Love's the Cause.  Ap. 
He's gone, and now my dear Ambassador,  
What Comfort for thy Friend?  Exit Pan. Merc. 
What you could wish— Which made me send away  
This Scandal of my Blood, this God  
Of Sheep-hooks—  
Prepare yourself, the Nymph is coming hither.  Ap. 
Who, Daphne?  Merc. 
She.  Ap. 
Prithee don't flatter me, nor use thy Humour  
Of lying to thy Friend.  Merc. 
'Tis true, by Cynthia.  
I must confess you'll have a plaguy Task on't:  
For all my Tricks and Wheedles 'twould not do,  
Nor could my Tears, my Sighs or Languishing,  
Which at some certain times ne'er used to fail me,  
Move her one jot— till at last a happy Lie  
(I thank jove for the Gift) engaged her hither.  Ap. 
Prithee what was it?  Merc. 
I told her a young Mountain-Boar was lodged  
Close by this Covert; she, greedy of the Game,  
Forsakes the rest o'th' Nymphs that now are Chasing—  
And yonder see she comes; 'tis fit I leave you.  
Now, Prince, your Wit, and on this Truth rely,  
No Woman yields so soon as she that's Coy.  Exit Merc. Enter Daphne, with a javelin. Daph. 
Sad lonely Groves, and Sun-defying Woods,  
The dark Recesses of the Sylvian Gods,  
Thickets where never Mortal Foot e'er trod,  
Where candied Snow in heaps remains unthawed,  
I've with unusual Patience wandered round,  
Yet nothing worth my Javelin have found.  
Sure Hermes with a Lie abused my Ear,  
Ha! do I dream? or is Apollo there?  
'Tis he; and now I'm sure I am betrayed,  
He comes, but I'll to Cynthia cry for Aid.  
Away, and let me go.  She is going, and Apollo interposes Ap. 
Not till I speak.  
If I should lose you thus my Heart will break.  Daph. 
Still am I plagued with the old whining Tale,  
Can no Denial, nor no Scorn prevail?  
Nay then this Weapon in my just Defence,  
Shall free me from this strange Impertinence,  
I'll kill ye.  Offers her javelin at him. Ap. 
That your Eyes half did before,  
Your Javelin now can hardly hurt me more.  Daph. 
My Eyes, Oh Falsehood, senseless, poor and dull!  
I swear the God of Wit is grown a Fool.  Ap. 
Reflect, fair Creature, than what Charms you have,  
The Wit's a Fool, the Conqueror, a Slave.  Daph. 
Still d'ye oppose thus then without Remorse?  
What you deny me I'm resolved to force.  Rushes on him with the javelin, and wounds him; he disarms him. Ap. 
Barbarous, Ingrate; must Blood then quench my Flame?  
Instead of Kindness is my Life your Aim?  
Kindness, Oh Heaven! how doubly fooled is he,  
That Kindness hopes from Woman's Cruelty,  
When stubborn Humour feeds her Tyranny.  
Beauty and Love by jove were first designed,  
The choicest Blessings he could give Mankind,  
Lovers with Ease did the dear Treasure gain,  
But now coy Rigour grieves 'em with such Pain,  
The Joy scarce countervails when they obtain.  Daph. 
Then for a Joy so little worth their Pains,  
Why have so many Idiots lost their Brains?  
Nay, why will you, so late a Deity,  
Descend so low poorly to sue to me?  
To me that ever shall thus Coy appear,  
He little thinks I have a Love elsewhere.  
Begone, for shame— no blustering will avail,  Apol. 
Love when abused has Privilege to rail.  
Your Sex ungoverned Passions hourly rule,  
And Natural Error makes ye Love a Fool.  
Wit is a Monster that provokes your Rage,  
And is as little welcome as Old-Age.  
Honest Desert you can disgust each hour,  
But Noise and Nonsense ravenously devour.  
To all your Mischiefs Virtue is the Guide,  
Virtue that feeds the Wolf of your cursed Pride.  
Your Sex's awful Cheat, for who e'er knew  
A Woman proudly chaste, good-natured too?  
Nay, you shall stay.  Daph. 
Now you shall prevail.  
I'll stay 'gainst Mankind in my turn to rail,  
Man that ne'er thinks he has a happy day,  
Unless he finds some Woman to betray:  
Man that then eagerly pursues the Chase,  
And swears and lies till he grows black in th' Face.  
How many Tricks to plot our future Pain,  
Are every day contrived amongst vile Men?  
What Tailors are there damned to frame a Dress,  
To make a Coxcomb taking to damn us.  
How many Oaths in Volley when they woo,  
And yet how sure we are not one are true;  
And if a Maid is fated to the Curse,  
To change her State for better, or for worse;  
She must the Nuptial Bed with Virtue Crown,  
though he the Leavings brings of the whole Town,  
And straight dislikes because she is hisown.  
Then with vile Sinner, tiring out his Life,  
Kecks and makes Mouths at th' very Name of Wife.  
This, this is Man, this is that precious he,  
In Morals learned—  Apoll. 
Rarely, tho' this may be.  
What are the Vices you have named to me?  
Consider and repent.  Daph. 
Repent, for what?  Apoll. 
For injured Love, and this ungrateful Fault,  
Atone for shedding thus my guiltless Blood.  
Make me Amends.  Daph. 
I cannot if would:  
You are of a Sex I hate, could you change Shape,  
Tho' with a Bear, a Hedgehog, or an Ape,  
As Nature's Products all— these love I can;  
In these there is no Mischief, but for Man,  
Soft Passion in my Breast, no Room can find,  
And nothing that's on Earth, can change my Mind.  Exit hastily. Apoll. 
Behold, fond Lovers, by coy Dames denied,  
Behold, the Quintessence of Female Pride:  
See here, the fleeting Bliss, for which you toil,  
Burn out your Lamps, and waste your precious Oil.  
In Woman the grand Disturbance of the Mind,  
In either Station, whither Coy, or Kind.  
Then hate her— Ah, how Vain is grave Advice  
Pleading 'gainst Nature, and its best of Joys;  
For tho' in th' Rapture, the sweet Blessing is  
So very short, that he that reaps the Bliss,  
Can hardly say 'tis this.  
Yet Men much more that happy Moment prize,  
Than Fame or Wealth, than Crowns or Monarchies.  Ex. Apoll. Enter Pan with Satyrs and Shepherds Pan. 
She comes unlooked for, to this happy Place,  
Love brings her hither, to prevent my Labour,  
Let us retire, and when I give the Sign,  
Be ready with your Skill to entertain her.  Exeunt. Enter Syrinx. 
She loves him, oh, she loves, sound it ye Winds,  
Even to the utmost Confines of the Globe;  
Proclaim aloud that Cynthia Loves Endymion,  
And he ill Fated Youth does dote on her:  
Whilst I am left regardless, and refused,  
Nay, tho' I've forfeited a Virgin's Blush;  
And with pale Cheeks, and Eyes all bathed with Tears,  
Heart-breaking Sighs, the silent breath of Passion,  
And Words unfitting any thing but Love,  
Have told him my sad Story but in vain;  
To Cynthia he Aspires, Cynthia the Fair,  
The Great, the Haughty— but she shall not have him;  
No, I'll oppose their Pleasure tho' I die;  
This I think the Covert of God Pan;  
Whom I've observed to be as fond of me,  
As I am of Endymion, and tho' I hate him,  
Yet I for once, and merely for my Ends,  
Will work upon his Temper; he has a Drug  
Given him by Proserpina, and Envious Pluto,  
Of such strange Force; and deadly Nature,  
That it can cast one into such a Sleep,  
That nothing can awake. This is Revenge,  
I'll wheedle out of him, to give Endymion;  
So shall he be incapable of loving,  
And she of being beloved— But see he comes.  Enter Pan with Shepherds and Shepherdesses, and Satyrs; he sits down by Syrinx. 1. Shepherd sings 
Great Pan, the preserver of our Flocks;  
By whose blessed Power we thrive and gain;  1. Shepherdess sings. 
Who keeps our Lambs from Bog and Rocks;  
Accept the Duty of each bumble Swain.  Shepherd. 
To Syrinx too; we welcome give,  Shepherdess. 
Syrinx that shall for ever live:  
Whilst Love and Beauty can disperse,  Shepherd. 
Whilst Love and Beauty can disperse,  Of both. 
Their Blessings o'er the Universe.  
Whilst Love and Beauty,  
Love and Beauty,  
Love and Beauty can disperse,  
Their Blessings o'er the Universe.  2. Shepherdess. 
Syrinx and Pan, how shall we entertain?  2. Shepherd. 
See, see the Satyrs in a merry Vein,  
Are coming down this way,  
Prepared to dance and Play,  
And sing a pleasant Round-Delay.  Enter a satire and a Nymph, who sing this Dialogue. 
satire. 
Last Night when Phoebus went to Bed,  
And I my hungry Goats had fed,  
I stole to Court,  
To see some Sport,  
And harken what the fine Folk said;  
Where soon my Heart was made a Prize,  
To one that wore black rolling Eyes:  
Be kind than Dearest of all Dears,  
For I'm in Love up to the Ears.   

II.  Nymph. 
If you Love me, you must prepare  
To clip your Horns, and shave your Hair  
Instead of causing Love, you scare.  
The hooves too hid within your Shoes,  
In Bed a tender Maid will bruise,  
They must be pared.  satire. 
With all my Heart,  
Nor will I cry, oh— at the Smart;  Nymph. 
Then come and the new Mode I'll show,  
And trick, and dress you like a Beau.   

III.  satire. 
How shall I change this matted Hair?  Nymph. 
You must a powdered Peruke wear;  satire. 
But then my Faces Tawny Red;  
Zons what can mend?  Nymph. 
It must be flayed;  
With boiling Water I'll begin  
To fleece you from that sallow Skin:  satire. 
'Twill scald, 'twill burn,  Nymph. 
Fie, fie— no, no:  
Or if it do,  
You must some small Pain undergo,  
Or you can never be a Beau.   

IV.  satire. 
For Love of thee, I'll do't, my Dear,  
Say next what Habit must I wear,  
Instead of Hides, and broad Fig-Leaves?  Nymph. 
A Coat, with huge, long, slouching Sleeves;  
A Hat cocked up with Button fine,  
And Steankirk twisted to your Chine:  
'Tis all the Mode—  satire. 
An apish Shame;  
Godzooks I'm better as I am.  Nymph. 
Nay, then farewell.  satire. 
Oh, say not so.  Nymph. 
Then do't and dare not answer no,  
I can love nothing but a Beau.   

Chorus of both.  satire. 
Then take me and moddle me just to thy Mind,  
Since Beauty much stronger than Reason can bind;  
I'll once be a Coxcomb:  Nymph. 
Why, then I'll be kind.  
What ever Distinction in Morals may be,  
When a Female's i' th' Case,  satire. 
Every Male is an Ass,  
And the Man, and the satire agree.   Here the rest of the Satyrs enter and Dance, which done, Pan whispers a satire, who goes and fetches the Drugs. Pan. 
Not only this but every dread Command,  Gives the Drugs to Syrinx. 
Pan shall with Joy obey, if you will pardon  
My rude unpolished Phrase, and let my Service  
Atone for my Defects in Conversation.  Syr. 
Be well assured I will.  Pan. 
The Dainties of the Spring, shall please your Eye,  
Summer and Autumn too, delight your Taste;  
I'll bring the lovely Maid, where clust'ring Grapes,  
Full as thy Lip, swelling with sprightly Juice,  
Shall give their willing Bunches to thy Hand;  
Tall Chestnuts, and the Filbert-Trees in Rows,  
Waiting thy Pull, shall bow their Summer Treasure,  
And in their turn, the bleeding Mulberry,  
Juicy pomegranate, and the luscious Plum,  
Shall pay thee Tribute; nor shall this be all,  
For to indulge thy Appetite, my Flocks,  
At my Command, shall cast their Kids and Lambs;  
And when at Night, cloyed with luxurious Feeding:  
Thy Beauteous Eyelids fall, in Groves of Jessamine:  
In Beds of Roses laid, my airy Choir,  
Sweet Nightingales like Flutes, the Thrush and Ozel,  
As shriller Flajoletts, with warbling Linnets,  
In Consort joined, shall sing thee to thy Rest.  Syr. 
Oh— heavenly, why this would charm a Virgin,  
Were she as Cold as Northern Icicles.  Pan. 
Will you then love me? pray forgive my Bluntness.  Syr. 
Hope well, this is no place for Promises,  
And now to let me see, how your Observance  
equal your Love, leave me alone, and instantly.  Pan. 
I'm gone, your Breath can drive me round the World,  
And in an Instant stop the swift Career.  Exit Pan. Syr. 
Go, and thy foolish Dotage be thy Plague,  
It ne'er shall trouble me; here is the Drug,  
The fatal Instrument of Female Malice:  
And now methinks the Mischief brood's within me,  
And all my Veins swell with the just Revenge:  
To love, and not be loved, what Curse is like it?  
Poverty, Sickness, Slavery or Exile,  
Famine or Plague, Tortures or Lunacy,  
are Ease to hopeless Love— oh, I'll not endure it,  
But in my Love's Defence, let fly at all,  
Since I cannot possess, no other shall.  Exit. 
The End of the Third Act.    


ACT IV. SCENE I.  Enter Cynthia. Cynthia. 
ALL things around me with content are blessed,  
And Peace is every where, but in my Breast.  
The toiling Swain, more happy than a King,  
In wishes bounded, cheerfully does sing.  
The Beasts in Plenty feed, the Birds on Trees,  
Caroll their Loves, and in the smiling Seas  
The little Fishes, dancing, seem to say,  
Nature is pleased, and gives us leave to play.  
The gaudy Sun, revels o'er all the Fields,  
And to his Favourite Flowers, fresh Odours yields.  
Who in return of his indulgent Sway,  
Unmask to kiss the Bridegroom of the Day.  
A general Joy fills all the spacious Earth,  
As if 'twere the Creation's second Birth:  
And Sadness like some Witch skulked in a Hole,  
Can find no Place for Harbour but my Soul.  
Oh! wretched State of Greatness when the Mind,  
A slave to proud Ambition is confined;  
And Love that does the chiefest Joy create,  
Is crushed by the unwieldy Bulk of State.  Enter Psyche. Psy. 
Oppressed with Grief, and almost drowned in Tears.  
With throbbing Heart, that true Contrition wears;  
The poor Endymion begs, he may have leave  
To see, and from your Eyes, his Doom receive,  
He says he knows not yet, what is the Fault,  
Nor done a wilful Error even in Thought.  Cyn. 
Offenders oft their Crimes extenuate,  
But he in guilty Matters, of this Weight,  
Does well to choose so fair an Advocate  
If you but plead, a Pardon must ensue,  
By all my Stars, I fear she loves him too.  Aside. Psyche. 
Had I the fond Ambition to believe  
That, Madam, for my sake you could forgive;  
I must confess I would petition straight:  
But since it is an Honour much too great,  
To be importunate would prove a Crime  
In pardoning, the Gods best know the Time.  Cynth. 
Oh Psyche! thou art nearest to my Love,  
Given me in Fancy by mighty jove.  
Forgive me, Sweet, if I have been unkind,  
Alas, I am not well, humorous as Wind;  
But, for thy sake Submission shall atone,  
Go, fetch him in, and then leave us alone.  Psyche. 
If this be Love, the Kiss will soon ensue,  
And then I'm forfeited to Heaven knows who:  
Yet what he is methinks I long to try,  
When Inclination prompts, what Virgin can deny?  Ex. Psyc. Cynth. 
He comes, and now I must strange Frowns put on,  
Talk Daggers to him, tho' I wish him none.  
Would I had chosen here some lowly State,  
Free from the Cares and Troubles of the Great;  
Where Love, Content, and Innocence agree,  
To bless the Swains with Life's Tranquillity,  
Endymion then might have looked up to me.  
But as I am thus high, and he so low,  
I love, but 'tis not fit that he should know.  Enter Endymion. End. 
As a poor Criminal with flowing Eyes  
Bows down to supplicate the Deities,  
With humble Aspect does his Prayer begin  
Begging a free Remission of his Sin;  
So I with all humility implore  
Your Eyes to dart their angry Beams no more.  
That I have many Faults too well I know,  
And great ones, since you please to think 'em so;  
But in the main Offence am yet to seek.  Cynth. 
Your Cunning, and Excuses, are too weak;  
You have been insolent, and in each Grove  
Proclaimed licentious Stories of your Love;  
In saucy Rhymes my Name your Theme must be,  
And Cynthia decks the Bark of every Tree.  
Eclipsing thus my Fame and Grandeur too,  
Speak now, aspiring Fool, is not this true?  Endym. 
The Sacred Name of Cynthia all adore,  
And so do I  Cynth. 
But that you loved you swore.  Endym. 
I durst not so presume.  Cynth. 
What does he say?  
Oh heavens'! my Looks will my Surprise betray.  Aside. Endym. 
My Hours in Adoration I employ  
You for all Mortal Passion are too high  
Love to our Equals well befits the Blood  
But not to you.  Cynth. 
What then you are too good  
Or love another which your Vanity  
Perhaps presumes to think does equal me.  
This is an Insolence more vile and base,  
Dare you affront, and slight me to my Face?  
This is a most unpardonable Fault.  Endym. 
She's angry if I own my Love or not;  
What must I do?—  Cynth. 
This Crime excels the first.  Endym. 
Then, Madam, I could love you if I durst.  Cynth. 
A slight Affection still is swayed by Fear:  
The perfect Lover never fails to dare.  Endym. 
So much Perfection in my Flame I'll prove,  
That were it scanned before the Throne of jove,  
No Mortal e'er had so refined a Love.  
On this white Altar let me seal the Truth.  Kneels and kisses her hand. 
This Hand that can create Eternal Youth.  
Transporting Odours breathe through every Poor,  
That can even Age inspire with Heat once more,  
And crazy Nature's worst Decay restore—  
White as the Milky Way in yonder Skies,  
And sweet as th' fragrant Groves in Paradise;  
Ah, who could live?  
If so much Rapture always were expressed,  
With so much Heaven, Youth, Love, and Beauty blessed.  Kisses her hand between every word 
Who would not sigh, and kiss, and ne'er have done?  Cynth. 
Oh Gods! What are we doing? away, be gone:  Snatching her hand away. 
Obscure thyself in Shades, my Anger fly,  
Act such another Error thou shalt die.  
Where are my Glories now?  
To whom Adoring Nations humbly bowed,  
That at a distance kept the Noisy Crowd.  
That awful Grandeur which my Beauty graced,  
With Virtue's pure, immaculate, and chaste,  
Destroyed and withered like a blasted Flower,  
Oh, shame to Honour and Majestic Power!  
When it shall e'er be told my Father jove,  
The dazzling Queen of all the Stars above,  
Stood listening to a whining Tale of Love.  
No, I'll control this Tyrant in my Veins,  
Oppose the Power that o'er my Freedom reigns.  
Punish the Offender, that dares so presume,  
Who soon shall find my Anger in my Doom.  Exit Cynthia. Endym. 
Punish th' Offender that dares so presume,  
Who soon shall find my Anger in my Doom.  
Oh Fatal Sound! Oh Tyrant Beauty too!  
Thou Basilisk, which murder'st with a View:  
Thou flattering Ocean, that in Calms dost guide,  
Fond Man at first with smooth deceitful Tide;  
To wreck him after in tempestuous Pride.  
Extend thy utmost Force, and since thy Doom,  
Can give my Griefs a Period, let it come;  
Till when I'll thus, of cruel Fate complain,  Falls on the Ground 
Despairing Love can know no second Pain.  Enter Syrinx with a Drug. Syr. 
My glorious Rival in you Vale I met,  
Her Eyes with bubbling Drops of Sorrow wet.  
But 'twas a Grief which sprung from Love, I fear,  
And see, to clear the Doubt, Endymion here:  
And by the Posture that I find him in,  
Some petty Quarrel has betwixt 'em heen.  
Oh, Traitor! Oh Ingrate! but hush, my Thoughts:  
Here's that shall take Revenge for all his Faults.  Endym. 
How blessed is Man when his Life's Journey ends!  Syr. 
Endymion rise and see what Cynthia sends,  
To ease thy Aching Heart, and makes amends  
For past Unkindness.  Endym. 
Who names Cynthia?  Syrnix. 
ay, who bring this Cordial from her. Taste and try,  
It's wondrous Virtue.  Rises. Endym. 
Dearer than Fame or Wealth.  Syrinx. 
Drink deep, and with a Gusto: come, her Health.  Endym. 
With so entire a Zeal,  
My throbbing Heart does the great Pleasure own,  
That were it Poison, thus it should go down.  Syrinx. 
The Draught and thy Prophetic Soul agree:  He drinks. 
'Tis Poison; and tho' no Fatal Quality  
Renders it Mortal, it Life's Orders sways;  
And thou shalt sleep the Remnant of thy Days.  
Ha, Ha,— it works, the strange Effect begins;  
Let this advance the Number of my Sins.  
It yet feeds my Revenge.  
Since hopeless Love Sleep from my Eyes did sever,  
'Tis fit who caused the Curse should sleep for ever.  Exit. Cynthia returns. Cynthia. 
'Midst all the Anger I Endymion bear  
Methinks I cannot leave him to despair.  
His Youth may for aspiring Love atone,  
Since 'twas a Fault by my Permission done,  
See where he lies, his Face all bathed in Tears:  
Ha!— sure he's dead: Oh, my ill boding Fears.  
'Tis so; he's gone,— and by my Rigour died,  
Oh!— Cursed Effects of Greatness and of Pride!  
Oh poor unhappy Youth, could not thy Ear  
A Woman's false dissembled Anger bear?  
Be Beauty henceforth blasted, not adored;  
Nor any Charming Influence afford.  
Who waits there? Stars, Nymphs, River's, all appear:  
This Fatal News to jove my Father bear.  Enter Psyche, Daphne, Cassiopeia, Andromeda, Neptune, Rivers and Stars. 
Consult the Oracle his Life to save,  
Say I must fetch Endymion from the Grave.  Music. 
But first Sacred and Harmonious Sound,  
Begin and Consecrate this Fatal Ground:  
Bring me my Sable Veil, and put it on:  
Thus I Eclipse the Lustre of the Moon.  Here the Moon being Eclipsed all the Stage is darkened. 
Shade allimy Beams that did the World adorn,  
And Nature for Endymion's Death shall mourn.  Exit. Amphit. sings. 

I.  
THE Poor Endymion loved too well  
A Nymph Divinely fair.  
Whose Fatal Eyes could hourly kill,  
Or worse; could cause Despair.  
For she had all her Sex's Pride,  
And all their Beauty too:  
And every Amorous Swain defied,  
When e'er they came to woo.   

II.  
Ah! see, oft cried the Love-sick Youth,  
The Griefs my Bosom wears,  
See, see the Constancy of Truth,  
Of their still falling Tears.  
Yet She regardless saw him weep,  
not minding true Desert:  
Which shook him with a Woo so deep,  
As broke at last his Heart.   

III.  
And now upon her Guilty Head  
The Sin of Murder lies;  
She shrinks and starts to see him dead,  
And Pity fills her Eyes.  
Ah! see what Creatures Women are:  
She loves him more and more:  
And now does languish in Despair  
For what she scorned before.   

Chorus.  
Ask the Monarch of the Noon,  
Why we lose our Darling Moon?  
And if long she hide her Face,  
Ask him to supply her Place.  
And if long, etc.   Neptune. 
Look down, Almighty Jove, look down,  
And from thy Darling Throne above  
Behold the Sorrows that the Land Oppress:  
Behold our dismal Loss of Happiness  
By Cynthia's Fatal Frowns.  
My Stormy Seas mount high,  
And in my Face do fly:  
And surely Boreas no Obedience owns:  
Ah! Pity and Redress  
Afflicted Nature's in Convulsions now;  
Nor knows she what to do  
To gain her past Delight;  
And to appease, appease, appease  
The Lovely Angry Goddess of the Night.  Poct. sings. 
Ask the Oracles, and straight  
We shall know Endymion's Fate.  
Nothing hidden lies  
To their great Divinities.  Chorus. 
Nothing, Nothing, etc.  Gang. sings. 
Ask why Youth and Innocence  
Punished are for no Offence.  
Ask the Gods why they agree  
So unjust a Thing should be.  Chorus of all. 
Ask the Gods, etc.  
Pay your Vows to mighty Jove:  
Round his Sacred Altar move:  
Pay your Duty and your Love.  The Scene changes to the Temple of Jupiter, of large extent, and illustrated with Golden Pillars of the Doric and Corinthian Order. Enter Cupid and High Priests, Apollo, Neptune, Padolos, Ganges, Tiber, Amphitrite, Mars, Nymphs, and Rivers ranging on either side of the Temple; then Cupid and High Priest of Jupiter meet apart near the Statute of Jupiter. Cupid. 
Doubt not my power nor question Jove's Decree,  
But speak the Mystic Words late taught by me.  H. Priest. 
The God of Love must be obeyed.  Cupid. 
Away!  
Apollo for the Oracle does stay.  Exit Cupid. Music begins here, the Priest goes and consults the Oracle and returns. H. Priest. 
Attend the Oracle.  Oracle. 
When she whose figure like the World's vast Frame,  
That's always one, yet never is the same:  
Constant, yet waning still when most increased,  
Descends to kiss and make Endymion blessed.  
Then that which seems like Death shall take  
No more Effect, but he that sleeps shall wake.  H. Priest and Chorus. 
And pay your Vows to mighty jove;  
Round his sacred Altar move;  
Sing your Duty and your Love.  Exeunt all but Apollo and Mercury. Apollo. 
Methinks the sacred Mystery fill my Heart,  
And Jove's Almighty jufluence inspires me:  
I feel his Knowledge and in that his Favour;  
For who can be the subject of this Oracle,  
But Cynthia; she's the Hieroglifick Figure,  
That's like the Globe, still wavering and yet constant:  
She is to kiss Endymion, than he wakes,  
For 'tis not Death but Sleep that seizes him.  
Sleep caused by Charm, or some cursed Drug of Nature:  
This she shall know,— with thanks for her Indulgence,  
Who has, I find, my Pardon got from jove,  
And by whose means I soon shall mount the Sky,  
And once more gain my lost Divinity;  
Now Cousin Hermes, what think you of the Oracle?  Herm. 
As of a Riddle.  
Surpassing Sphinx, or any I have heard of,  
'Tis only proper for Apollo's Wit,  
Which (now he has done loving) soon will solve it.  Apollo. 
Oh, you are Satyrical I find, 'tis well;  
For till you see how I'm revenged, you've reason;  
But to excuse my loving folly, know,  
It is through all degrees of humans so;  
Every one bears within his Brain or Blood,  
Some Lust by which a Fool is understood.  
Pride Millions makes, base Avarice the same,  
Honour vast shoals of Fools that sight for Fame.  
Merchants are fooled by trust, Courtiers by Vows;  
And the City Trader by his jilting Spouse.  
Nay the Law and Clergy, whom learned reason fills,  
For some known frailty wear the Cap with Bells.  
But 'mongst all reasons that the wise have met,  
Love is the best excuse for baffled Wit,  
Because the dear Temptation is most sweet:  Exit. 
The End of the Fourth Act.    

ACT V.  Enter Hobinal, Clout, Tarbox, and Collen, driven in by two Furies. Clout. 
BLess us, how dark it is, ne'er a Star to be seen; not one pretty little Goldy locked Planet to comfort us; we have made fine work on't, this comes of mutining against the Gods, and disparaging our bright shining Lady Cynthia; we have done rarely, han't we; I always thought what would be the end on't: Ah Collen, Collen, thou deserv'st to be hanged by jupiter.  Tarb. 
Ay, the truth is he deserves to be hanged for us all, he was the Ringleader, 'twas he that was so saucy to say, he would dwindle the Gods into Constables; for my own part, I always thought 'em fit to be Justices of the Peace, or Churchwardens at least.  Low. 
If I had thought 'twould e'er have come to this, I should ne'er have been so free of giving my Verdict, for to speak truth, when I did it, my Conscience rambled up and down in my Stomach, I spoke the word against my will.  Collen. 
You spoke the words against your will! ye lie, you're a Cuckold, and take that, Sirrah, you spoke the words as freely as a poor Tumbrill Whore does the Matrimony, when she has got a Cully with an Estate to marry her.  Hob. 
Would I had let the satire have done what he would with my Daughter, rather than by calling your assistance, make the Deities so angry, and the Night so dark, that I can't find the way to my Wife, tho' he had put her to the squeak a little, if she had but kept her own Council, 'twould ne'er have spoiled her Match, the Girl would have done well enough, my Son Clout would have ne'er an Inch the less of her.  Clout. 
Gad's Diggers, I had rather Buddy had been brought to bed of a whole Litter of Satyrs, than that pure Barrel of Stingo strong Beer should piss all about the Cellar so, for my not having light enough to stop the Faucet: a Wise often brings a Man a Cup of Discontent, but that would have afforded a Brimmer of Comfort at any time.  Collen. 
Here's a Fellow for ye; this Rogue has not been married so long a time as a Midwife would be making a Bowl of Punch, yet cares not so his Barrel of Stingo have a safe Spigot and Faweet, if his Wife's Firkenwere tapped by the Devil.  Tarb. 
Ay, ay, we ought to complain, and curse ye too for offending our gracious Cynthia: gad I believe you have made her fall into fits with vexing, and that's the reason she won't shine.  Low. 
Ye have all less reason to complain for want of her than I; for I am lamed about it; I broke both my Shins in the dark, falling over a great Form yonder, then presently run my Face against the corner of a Pale, and broke out three of my Teeth, and in two Minutes after tumbling down Stairs, fell into a confounded Cellar last night.  Collen. 
Ah! I into a damned deep Well, this Morning, but what then, I'm as sturdy as ever: and a fig for a Moon shine, we'll do our work by day light, and honest Will o'th' Wisp shall light us to bed instead of her.  Clout. 
Gad's Diggers, and I'll say't, now. Collen, you're a sawsy Fellow, and I remember what you said before of Cynthia, when you called her Jilt: but you shall find now, some are wiser than some, Gad's diggers, I'll peach.  Collen. 
Why then you shall find some are richer than some, I'll bribe off your evidence with a full bag, and then what becomes of your Peaching, Puppy.  Hob. 
Ay, but I sancy, do y'hear, these burnt Brandy Drinkers that wait upon us will take no clipped Money, so that you would not bubble them, and for us, we know ye too well, to trust.  Collen. 
Why if they come from the Devil, as by their looks I'm apt to believe they do; 'twill serve to melt down well enough; I know their way of Trade.  Tarb. 
Ay, here comes one will discover whether his Coin be currant or no, presently; 'tis God Mercury, who I hear is ordered to impeach us and hurry us to trial.  Collen. 
Ay, let them try what they can; I'll get one witness or two out of the way, I'll warrant ye.  Enter Mercury. Merc. 
How now, what are these the Rogues that Minos and Radamanthus have sent for to try and punish about defying the Deists?  Clout. 
An please your Worship, your Lordship, your Dukeship, your Godship; my Lord, we are poor ignorant People, and have been very much seduced, and please ye, we have been confoundedly led by the Nose, as the saying is.  Collen. 
Led by the Nose, hold your peace, Calf's head.  Merc. 
What, than it seems you are the Champion to defend their Iniquities: come let's hear, what do you say?  Collen. 
Nothing.  Merc. 
You can look saucily I perceive, what are you? hah.  Collen. 
I don't know; look ye shan't catch me.  Merc. 
How, Sirrah, not know yourself.  Collen. 
No, may be I don't know myself, but I believe I know you, I'm no Thief.  Merc. 
No Thief, Sirrah.  Collen. 
No, I say, I'm no Thief, people's Spoons and Forks may lie in quiet for me, make the best of that again, I say.  Merc. 
You are a rare saucy Slave indeed; Sirrah, do you know who I am.  Collen. 
Yes, I think I do, and harkee, don't you believe because you are a God, that you should play the Devil with me; nay never frown for the matter; look, I don't fear ye, and if you'll do any thing upon the square, say but the word, I'm ready; why you are no more than one of us, now must.  Merc. 
'Tis very well Rascal; but sure we shall hamper ye.  Collen. 
We; ay, I thought you would want help; and I'll try if I can match your Cock, faith harkee Brother, thou look'st: To one of the Furies. stand by me, and let him send for his Brother Mars if he will, we'll thrash him, I'll warrant thee.  Hob. 
Ah, 'tis likely they'll take your part, did you ever hear such a saucy Rogue, Neighbours let's knock him down.  Collen, 
Say ye so; nay if the Gods and Devils are reconciled, here's like to be a strange World; but come, fall back, fall edge; I'll stand to't till my Stampers fail me; come all together if you will, I'll have a brush with ye, faith, I'll ne'er go to Goal tamely, not I, Zounds, I'll thump some of you.  Merc. 
You that expect favour from the Judges, seize him, and bring him away.  Collen. 
Why Tarbox, Clout, why Hob, Slaves, Nincompoops; ah, ye cowardly Rogues, Zooks give me fair play, and bring half a Dozen of your shamakin Gods, I'll drub 'em, bring jupiter, I'll break his head, I'll Cuckold him; fair play, fair play ye Rogues.  Exeunt. Scene changes to the Grove where Endymion lies. Enter Syrinx. Syrinx. 
HOrror surrounds me wheresoever I go,  
And each green Covert seems the seat of Woe:  
Tremblings and Fear do all my Spirits seize;  
And as I walk, methinks amongst the Trees,  
Daemons peep out and mock my Miseries.  
Oh that I could from Fate Endymion save,  
Or could expel the Poison that I gave;  
But 'tis too late to wish it.  Enter Cupid. Cupid. 
This is she,  
Whose cankered Malice, Pride and Treachery,  
Has made me use her as my Property:  
Her Envy true desert to none allows,  
But still to all her Sex base Rancour shows;  
I'll try her with my Psyche's character;  
I'll pardon all if she prove just to her.  Syrinx. 
What lovely Youth is this?  Cupid. 
Bright Virgin may  
A harmless Boy desire your patient stay,  
To tell him where he may fair Psyche find:  
Fair Psyche, the too charming, too unkind:  
For I have wandered all the live long day,  
And stranger to these Groves, have lost my way.  Syrinx. 
Close by a Brook that glides through yonder Meads,  
Abeaten Path to Cynthia's Palace leads,  
There you may find the Dowdy you think fair.  Cupid. 
Think so sweet Nymph, why then does any there,  
Any of Cynthia's Nymphs with her compare:  
Pray speak, for I'll believe it from your Tongue,  
Another I should think might do her wrong:  
Is she not wondrous beautiful?  Syrinx. 
She's young.  Cupid. 
Young as the Infant-Blossoms of the Spring,  
And fragrant as the Odours which they bring.  
The season smiles whenever she walks abroad.  
She's all divine; a Mistress for a God.  Syrinx. 
Whate'er she is, you are in Love I find,  
All Colours are alike to those are blind.  Cupid. 
My Eyes are not so blind, but I can see  
A Heavenly Beauty.  Syrinx. 
Who has such Beauty?  Cupid. 
She.  Syrinx. 
Alas poor Child, you must instructed be.  Cupid. 
'Mongst Cynthia's Stars has there a brighter shone?  Syrinx. 
Ye Novice; yes, a thousand,— I am one.  Cupid. 
But then her Innocence you must allow;  
No guilt e'er sullied yet her Snowy Brow.  
A Virgin Virtue from all Vice so free,  
There's nothing purer in Divinity.  Syrinx. 
That creature well may for a Virtue pass,  
And innocent that no Temptation has.  Cupid. 
Has she not Charms that every heart does rule?  Syrinx. 
Charms, thou mean'st Freckles, pish, the Boy's a Fool;  
Her Legs are crooked.  Cupid. 
Ha!  Syrinx. 
Her Eyes are sore.  Cupid. 
Monstrous.  Syrinx. 
A Dowdy, as I said before.  Cupid. 
Be dumb, abhorred Detractor speak no more;  
But swift Destruction for thy Malice find,  
Thou venomed Vermin of the Serpent kind;  
Psyche shall be as far above thy fate,  
As at this Moment she's above thy hate;  
Which to confirm,— my self I this make known,  
I am the God of Love.  Syrinx. 
And I undone.  Cupid. 
I rule all hearts in Earth or Heaven above,  
And thou the worst that e'er hadst grace to love,  
In my revenge shall fall unpitied.  Syrinx. 
Stay;  Kneels. 
Oh turn nor thus thy charming Eyes away;  
But hear me speak and mitigate thy hate:  
Repentance to a God ne'er came too late.  Cupid. 
No, thy vile Sin deserves severest pain,  
Who dares infringe the Laws that I maintain,  
Makes the great end of her Creation vain.  
The envious Fair has Beauty worse bestowed;  
I'll punish thee, to show I am a God.  Exit Cupid. Syrinx. 
He's gone, the Monarch of our Soul is gone,  
And leaves me here to hate myself alone.  
Cynthia by him will my late mischiefs know;  
But let him tell, more obstinate I'll grow;  
More ills to guard the first I will pursue,  
And show what Woman when provoked can do:  
I'll to my doting Lover Pan repair,  
Wheedle and make him by his Godhead swear,  
That I am guiltless of that cursed Affair;  
And see he comes in th' opportunity,  
As fit as Hell approved my Policy.  
Now Female subtlety inspire my Brain,  
And let not Woman have a Wit in vain.  Enter Pan. Pan. 
What have you done, why was the fatal Drug,  
By me designed so well, so ill employed?  
Now by my Herds this act so much hath wronged me,  
I curse your Beauty and my foolish Grant.  Syrinx. 
When you once know the Justice I have done you,  
You'll thank me for the deed, he was your Rival.  Pan. 
My Rival.  Syrinx. 
A most pernicious one, a close Pursuer;  
I ne'er could rest in quiet for him.  Pan. 
Villain, I care not then if he were dead:  Angrily. 
But is it possible you could do you this for me?  Syrinx. 
I could do any thing for him I love.  Pan. 
And do you love me.  Syrinx. 
Do I love my Soul.  Passionately. Pan. 
My Life.  Kisses her hand. Syrinx. 
My Heart.  Pan. 
She stings me more and more:  
I'm mad, she never was so kind before;  
She's now my own, and meets my Love with Passion.  Syrinx. 
Oh, thou sweet Devil, dear Dissimulation.  Aside. Pan. 
What shall I do for thee?  Syrinx. 
One thing particularly:  
When Cynthia summons us about this business,  
As 'tis most like she will, be sure t' excuse me,  
Vouch and declare that I am innocent,  
You are a God, and I a poor weak Woman;  
One that has many Foes and want your help;  
Do this and boldly, I am yours for ever.  Pan. 
Yes, I will do it, tho' the Oracle roar  
In Thunder louder than a teeming Cloud:  
I will myself expound the mystic meaning,  
And turn it upon any one but thee;  
For thee, Apollo I'll once more abuse,  
And save my Love, tho' I my Godhead lose.  Enter Mercury. Merc. 
I'm sorry that I bring so ill a Message;  
But know from th' mighty Thunderer I come,  
To summon both of you to make appearance,  
Before the bright Assembly of the Gods;  
Apollo will again be deified:  
And being joined with Cupid has impeached ye  
Of poisoning Endymion; I have command  
To bring ye instantly.  Pan. 
jove must be obeyed:  
But who interpreted the Oracle?  Merc. 
Apollo privally to Cynthia, who makes his peace  
With jove, come the time wastes.  Pan. 
Well, well, I go:  
They soon will find my Innocence is pure;  
I never poisoned him.  Syrinx. 
Nor I, I'm sure.  Exeunt. Enter Psyche. Psyche. 
I that was wont to tremble at the night,  
In solitary darkness now delight:  
Welcome, a welcome than thou friendly shade,  
That hidest the sorrow of a love-sick Maid:  
Tho' all the Stars withdraw their Lustre now;  
And fate sits cloudy upon Cinthia's brow;  
Since her Eclipse, tho' black Saturnia reigns,  
Whilst gazing Nations wonder what it means;  
Yet this dear secret benefit is wrought;  
Darkness is fittest for a Lover's thought:  
Where art thou, thou dear subject of my sighs,  
Where dost thou hide thee from my longing Eyes,  
And yet convey such Charms into my breast,  
That since I saw thee would not let me rest.  
Ha, who comes here, by that majestic Mein,  
Clouded in sorrow, it showed be the Queen  
Going to see Endymion.  Enter Cynthia Veiled, a Paper in her hand. Cynthia. 
Heaven's decree,  
Sure can no scandal to my Virtue be:  
Unerring sacred Oracles relate,  
That I am Mistress of Endimion's fate;  
And that a Kiss can a new life create:  
A Kiss; ye Powers must divine Cynthia be  
A Sacrifice to men's necessity?  
My Lips have yet their sacred Sweets retained,  
And with unhallowed touch was ne'er profaned:  
And shall they now that glory lose, oh never;  
Rather than so, Gods, let him sleep for ever.  
Who's there.  Psyche. 
'Tis I.  Cynthia. 
My Psyche.  Psyche. 
Yes.  Cynthia. 
Alas!  
What fortune brings thee to this mournful place;  
Thy happy hours no stormy cares invades:  
Content Love's light, 'tis grief that seeks the shades.  Psyche. 
Of that a weighty share I challenge too,  
For Madam, I do hourly grieve for you:  
Some little sorrow my own cause I lend,  
But much more grief for you, my Queen.  Cynthia. 
Your Friend.  Psyche. 
How long must we in dreadful Shades abide?  
How long will th' starry Queen her Lustre hide?  
What says the Oracle? pray give me leave  
To know the Mystery, and why you grieve.  Cynthia. 
Sweet Innocence, the Cause will soon appear,  
And therefore all my Discontents read there;  
'Tis th' Oracle that shows me to prolong  
Endimion's life, but does my Virtue wrong.  Psyche reads.] 
When she, whose Figure's like the World's vast frame,  
That's always one, yet never is the same:  
Constant, yet waning still, when most increased;  
Descends to Kiss, and make Endymion blessed.  
Then that which seems like death shall take  
No more effect, but he that sleeps shall wake.  Psyche. 
Oh, ye immortal Powers, what's this I read?  
If this be true, if it be so indeed.  
Upon the Truth my lasting Joy does move;  
For when she Kisses him, I gain my love.  Apart. 
Now I remember well, 'twas so decreed.  Cynthia. 
Now tell me, am I fit for such a deed?  
Does such an action suit my state and name?  Psyche. 
Yes, and 'twill add to your eternal fame.  Eagerly. 
Great jove will crown it, you'll the pattern be,  
Of noble Justice, sacred Clemency.  Cynthia. 
Rather disgraced, that I should stoop so low.  Psyche. 
Ah, Madam, if you love me, do it now.  Cynthia. 
How concerned she is.  Psyche. 
Alas, what harm can there be in a kiss,  
A touch, a nothing, hardly worth a name;  
So innocent, so hurtless to your fame.  
That harmless Doves I've seen in sunny weather,  
To coo and kiss for half an hour together:  
Nay, I have done't, nor thought Lips less sweet,  
A thousand times to my dear Paraquite.  Cynthia. 
Tho' not my Lips, my Honour may be wronged.  Psyche. 
Ah, never since Endimion's life's prolonged:  
A pitying Glance on the poor Youth afford;  
Think how by him great Cynthia was adored.  
By him your Statues was with Garlands crowned;  
And tho' no favour in your Eyes he found,  
By him you still was loved, and still renowned.  Cynthia. 
If he aspires to me, his Love's a fault.  Psyche. 
Not when it comes no farther than a Thought.  
Ah, Madam, at your feet does Psyche lie.  Kneels to her. 
Kiss him, pray kiss him— now, now, presently.  Cynthia. 
Her Zeal, poor Girl, is half turned Lunacy.  
Let me consider—  Psyche. 
In the mean time see,  
The suffocating Nations all like me.  
In mystic Rites— and solemn Songs implore,  
This heavenly grant, which will their Moon restore.  [Here enters an Antimask of Nations of Arabs, Indians, Moors, with Noisy Instruments in their Hands; Nymphs, River's attending. 

SONG, by a Druid.  
BLack and Gloomy as the Grave,  
Or Chaos once sad Nature lies;  
Some pitying Power the Nation save,  
Ere cruel Fate all things destroys.  
Let Martial Music loudly charm  
This horror of Eclipse away;  
Let Trumpets sound, drum's beaten alarm,  
And sacred Light as lately sway;  
That in Groves and in Plains,  
The Nymphs and the Swains,  
May sing to each other new joys;  
And the Satyrs and Fawns,  
Trip o'er the green Lawns,  
When Cynthia unvails her bright Eyes.   Chorus. 
That in Groves; etc.  A Dance here of Arabs, Indians, Moors, etc. which done, all kneel. [Cynthia comes on.] Cynthia. 
Virtue with pity should be still endowed;  
'Tis a rank Vice in Greatness to be proud.  
What tho' the World that I'm a Goddess know,  
Fixed in a sphere so high, and he so low;  
Yet my conspicuous Grandeur must not be  
Example for relentless Cruelty.  
Besides, the Oracle of jove has said  
It must be so, and jove must be obeyed.  
Psyche, thou hast prevailed.  Psyche. 
Oh happy Hour.  Cynthia. 
And now you Deities, and every Power  
That love the night, days coming lustre chase,  
And shade the glowing blushes of my face.  
Let Phoebus close confined this minute be;  
Attractive Thetis, keep him in the Sea;  
Till I this strange unusual thing have done,  
And the effect of Jove's Command have shown.  
Take this Kiss, which Oracles ordain;  
Take what no Mortal did before obtain;  
Not ever, after thee, must hope again.  Kisses him, he awakes. Cupid. 
The sacred Touch divine Impression makes;  
See, from his deadly Swoon the Youth awakes:  
Let him his Heaven find in Cynthia's Charms;  
My heaven's on Earth, whilst Psyche's in my Arms.  Psyche. 
Ah! can this beauteous Vision then be true!  Runs eagerly and embraces Psyche. 
My dear dear Charmer, am I sure 'tis you?  Cupid. 
'Tis I, thou sweet Perfection of thy Kind;  
Ah, round thy Waste, let me like Ivy bind.  Embracing. Psyche. 
But how? what shall I call my Heart's best Joy?  Cupid. 
Call me the Sovereign of Sympathy.  
But if my common Title thou wouldst know,  
The God of Love; all humans call me so.  
With better Title graced, now being thine,  Embracing her. Psyche. 
The God of Love; was ever Fate like mine?  Embraces and kisses him. 
Now with my Sex can I with Pride look down,  
And above Mortal Bliss can prize my own.  
They still must with short scraps of Joy dispense;  
But here, for ever, I've the Quintessence.  Again embrace.] Cupid. 
To the glad World the Light's restored again.  Endymion comes forward. Endim. 
Where am I now! what Visions have I seen!  
My Heart yet throbs with the Remains of Joy,  
That blessed my Sense, and entertained my Eye:  
Eternal Groves, all flourishing and gay;  
Refreshing Bloom, and everlasting Day.  
Upon a lucid Mount, methought I sat,  
And saw the sacred Mysteries of Fate.  
Beheld the Furies chase Earth's impious brood,  
Whilst Gods were coining Blessings for the good.  
But now, methinks, I feel my wonted Pain  
Shaking, to mortal Cares returned again.  
Yet who a Pain can know when Cynthia's by?  
Oh my full heart!  Cynthia. 
Endymion, yes, 'tis I,  
Whose pity was too great to see you lie  
So long entranced: but how? how came you charmed?  Endim. 
What your Eyes left undone, your Drug performed.  Cynthia. 
My Drug! he raves; and I th' Infection take.  Endim. 
Admire not, Madam, Miracles you make.  
Syrinx from you the fatal potion brought.  Cynthia. 
From me! Oh impious Wretch, let her be sought;  
By all my Stars I ne'er had such a Thought.  Endim. 
Then I am happy beyond mortal Bliss;  
For 'tis a Torment to me I confess,  
To think great Cynthia was the Poisoner  
Of poor Endymion, for Adoring her.  
The Heavenly Powers  
On Reprobates their Furies exercise,  
But cast no Thunder on the Votaries:  
Besides, my Love had so much purity,  
It could not lessen you, tho' it exaled me.  Cupid. 
Since Harmony Alarms every thing below,  
Let Songs of Love, Life's darling Blessing show.  [Enter Zephyrus and Iris, and Sing.] Zeph. 

AH, what happy Days and Nights  
The fond Lover,  
Does discover,  
When his Mistress smiles upon him,  
To the Heaven of sweet Delights.  
Kind Desire,  
Mounts him higher,  
Every Moment she looks on him:  
'Tis the noblest Gift of Jove;  
'Tis the greatest joy above:  
Let us then for ever love;  
Ever love, ever love;  
Let us then for ever love.   Iris. 

II.  
Bliss beyond all Thought she feels,  
Who's kind Wooer,  
Does pursue her,  
With a true and constant Passion;  
Panting joy each Pulse reveals.  
All her Glances,  
Are Advances,  
When Love rules her Inclination:  
Pray we then to Mighty Jove,  
That our Flames may ne'er remove;  
But for ever let us love;  
Let us love, let us love;  
But for ever let us love.   Second Movement. Zeph. 
Humours most obstinate Love changes soon.  Iris. 
Love puts the harshest discord into tune.  Zeph. 
Inspires the sordid, makes the Miser fine.  Iris. 
Turns humane cares into a bliss divine:  
'Tis all transporting Joy, and charms the Heart;  
'Tis all in all, and all in every part.  Chorus of both. 
'Tis all transporting, etc.  Enter Apollo Deified with a Crown of Stars, with Daphne guarded, and a young Shepherd. Apollo. 
Endymion, take this Crown, and put it on;  
The King of Gods adopts thee for his Son:  
Wonder not, but receive the Gift from me;  
The next to this is Immortality.  
Thy sacred Virtues are proclaimed above,  
Even in the high and dazzling Court of jove;  
Who will himself descend to honour thee.  Endim. 
So much devotion to the grace belongs,  
I must in Blushes pay my gratitude.  Apollo. 
And now, since the great Thunderer has endued  
Me with new Power, and from the Race of Men  
Translated me into a God again,  
Th' Affronts and Injuries I lately bore,  
I purpose to revenge.  Cynthia. 
You have the Power.  Apollo. 
Look then upon this slander to her Race;  
This very Devil— with an Angel's face:  
False, as a Harlot's Tears, to gain her Will,  
Or an old Rebel, Politician's Zeal.  
True, Woman, like the first Mankind betrayed,  
When Hell and she their precious bargain made.  
This Creature, this fair piece of Cruelty;  
I blush to speak it, was beloved by me;  
The Mistress of my Soul, and fond Desires,  
Till her vain folly quenched my hallowed fires.  
I was the subject of her scorn and pride;  
Jest, and a thousand Vanities beside.  
But see the Woman's cheat in being coy;  
This seeming Virtue, with a downcast Eye,  
I found this Morning courting of a Boy;  
Prattling warm Love, applauding his rare Feature,  
Prompted by all the Furies in her Nature.  
This moved my Rage, and by the Powers above,  
Refusing me, she shall no other love.  Cynthia. 
To everlasting Shades I her condemn;  
First for refusing you, then loving him.  Daph. 
Oh fatal Sound, oh cruel Goddess too,  
Upon my Knees thus let me rooted grow,  Kneels. 
Until this horrid Sentence you repeal.  Apollo. 
To hope compassion, and yet none to feel;  
What confidence is this?  Daph. 
Ah, calm your hate.  In a soft Tone. 
You once was kinder in your Mortal state.  
Am I grown old? and do my Charms abate?  Apollo. 
Ah, flattering Mischief— think not to regain  
Affection lost— I was a Lover then,  
That fed your Pride, and bred you to be Vain.  
Nay, so divine a Passion I could boast;  
My love supplied the heaven I had lost:  
But no return, no gratitude I met;  
You must be coy:  Daph. 
I but dissembled it.  
You say yourself it is the female cheat.  Apollo. 
You cannot love, pursue the Humour still:  Daph. 
Forgive me now, and if I can, I will.  Tenderly kneeling. Apollo. 
What, your young Minion here, for him you'll try?  
No, I'll not trust your Sex's fallacy.  
He is the chosen Darling you adore,  
And I am to be flattered for my Power.  
Away, this last Affront's too great to bear;  
The Wretch, I'll not forgive, I will not hear.  
Your Sex shall know, that Heaven your Beauty gave;  
Not to oblige the fool, or fortune's slave,  
But to reward the witty, and the brave.  Daph. 
Why then Rage on, and your worst Anger prove;  
My stubborn fixed Resolve it ne'er shall move.  
Opinion throws a Mist o'er womens' Eyes;  
And none but those we like, to us are wise.  
Witty or brave, not pleasing is defied;  
Thus till our Inclination bows our Pride;  
Will is our Law, and Fancy is our Guide.  Apollo. 
Why, farewell Womankind, and welcome Rest,  
That has so long been banished from my Breast.  
'Tis proper now to plant new Glory there.  
Welcome kind Hermes.  Enter Mercury, with Pan and Syrinx, guarded. Merc. 
From yond starry Sphere  
jove sends his strict and dread Commands by me,  
That Syrinx be accused of th'infamy  
Of Poisoning Endymion.  Cynthia. 
Be not seen.  Exit. Endymion. 
Whilst I examine her.  Syrinx. 
Night's Illustrious Queen!  
How comes it that I must bear this Insolence,  
Where Pan can justify my Innocence?  Cynthia. 
Does Pan affirm it?  Pan. 
Yes, and more can prove.  
When this was done, she was in yonder Grove.  Merc. 
Sheering your Sheep, or listening to your Love,  
On what Employment, Son?  Apollo. 
The horrid Act,  
By Drugg or Potion had its cursed Effect:  
And sure, of such a Drugg, I've heard you speak.  Syrinx. 
Then all our former cunning is too weak,  
Mischief assist me.  Aside. Cynthia. 
In excusing her,  
You make yourself the Hellish Poys'ner;  
For 'tis undoubted you or she must do it.  Syrinx. 
Then since it must be so, the truth shall out.  
Much I'm concerned a Rural Deity,  
So highly prized, should be accused by me.  
But since I now am forced to speak the truth,  
'Twas Pan that Poisoned the much-injured Youth.  Pan. 
By Hell I'm finely caught.  Syrinx. 
Through jealous Nature,  
That I admired Endimion's shape and feature.  
Unruly Love urged him to act this Evil:  
Indeed I pity him—  Weeps. Pan. 
Oh, cunning Devil.  
Is this your Love? is this your Constancy?  To her apart. Syrinx. 
Talk not of Love, I always hated thee.  Apart. Pan. 
And yet you swore your Vows all constant were.  Syr. 
Dull fool, will you believe us when we swear?  Apart. 
'Tis our design to cheat you when we Vow.  Pan. 
There is not such a Fury sure below.  
But why thou Fiend on me, this cursed disgrace?  Syrinx. 
Because I wanted then just such an Ass;  
Such a fond loving Fool.  Pan. 
Thou front of Brass,  
Didst not thou do it?  Aloud. Syrinx. 
Alas, he's now quite mad;  
Pray let some get the drivelling God to bed.  
See, see; he Raves!  Cynthia. 
What Riddles do I hear?  
Come forth, Endymion, let the truth appear.  Syrinx. 
Nay, if he be revived, my case is clear  
The Mischief can no longer wear disguise;  
Vain are my Arts, and useless all my Lies.  
But stubbornly I will defy their Power,  
And from this hated Moment speak no more.  
Confession to exclude, I'll thus lock fast  
My Lips, and show true Woman to the last.  Cynthia. 
Endymion, speak.  
And as you hope a future grace from me,  
Boldly declare the truth who did it.  Endim. 
She.  Pointing to Syrinx. Cynthia. 
Yet you are guiltless, and do nothing know;  
Winds bear her hence to Caves of Frost and Snow:  
She shall be judged, and for this spiteful deed;  
To morrow be transformed into a Reed.  Apollo. 
And she, for whom the God of Wit once 〈◊〉,  
Proud Daphne to a Laurel shall be turned:  
The Minion to a Bramble growing by:  
Away with them, I will hear no reply.  Ex. Daph. Syrinx, etc. Cynthia. 
Come, let's to jove, who is, I see, descending,  
And mingle with our fellow Deities:  
For now on Earth nothing but Joy must be,  
Whilst great Latona's Offspring thus agree.  

SCENE V.  After a Symphony is played, Jupiter and Juno descend with Godsand Goddesses in the Machine's; the Stage is filled with Nymphs, Stars, Rivers, etc. then Cupid and Psyche descend and dance; and after them is the grand Dance of Gods and Goddesses; which ended; Cynthia speaks. Cynthia. 
As when from huddled Chaos Earth was made,  
And of the World the first foundation laid:  
High on bright Thrones th' Eternal Council sat,  
To hear the mighty Words that did create:  
So a Divine Cabal now fills this place;  
Ah, how can I deserve the mighty grace:  
My Will does with Desires unbounded sway;  
But 'tis a debt too great for me to pay.  
Accept then grateful Vows—  Bowing to Jove. jupiter. 
You from this hour,  
o'er Heaven, as well as here, have half my Power.  
Old Nature shall a second Model take,  
And to Creations I'll Additions make:  
Cherish the brave and good with lasting Praise,  
And Crown true Virtue with Eternal Bays;  
Disperse the poisonous Seeds that Vice does sow;  
Which digged and rooted up, no more shall grow.  Cynthia sits, and there is the Dance of Gods and Goddesses. 
The Moon with a New World I will improve,  
And thence the Vices of the Old remove:  
Dim-sighted-Mortals shall the change allow,  
And the great grace of Revolution know.  juno. 
Love shall be all refined, pure and serene,  
And in the rapture there shall be no sin;  
But heavenly Souls, who the soft fire does warm;  
Long Ages live and love, and think no harm.  jupit. 
It shall not such a plague as Faction know,  
The Crowds Religion framed in Hell below:  
But all in Peace and firm Obedience move,  Cynthia. 
And bless the sacred Majesty of jove.  Omnes. 
And bless, etc.  Then Enter Mars and Minerva, and sing, while a Machine descends; and Cynthia, Endymion, Apollo and Hermes Enter, Endymion is changed into a Star, and with a Chorus the Opera concludes. 

SONG, in Two Parts, between Mars and Minerva.  
THE Loud-tongued War, like Thunder,  
Comes Echoing over the Plains;  
And distant Nations wonder,  
Which side the glorious Conquest gains.  
Tantarra rara, Trumpet sound,  
Fill all the Air with Martial Rattle;  
Dub, Dub-a-dub, the Noise rebounds,  
To urge the Heroes on to Hattles.  
The Cannons roar in murdering Flame,  
Up to the Skies the Smoke does roll:  
Beat an Alarm, they Storm, they Storm;  
And now Immortal William's Name,  
Resounds from Poll to Poll.   
THE END.