_Cup._ Unbind me, my delight, this night is mine, Now let me look upon what Stars here shine, Let me behold the beauties, then clap high My cullor'd wings, proud of my Deity; I am satisfied, bind me again, and fast, My angry Bow will make too great a wast Of beauty else, now call my Maskers in, Call with a Song, and let the sports begin; Call all my servants the effects of love, And to a measure let them nobly move. Come you servants of proud love, Come away: Fairly, nobly, gently move. Too long, too long you make us stay; Fancy, Desire, Delight, Hope, Fear, Distrust and Jealousie, be you too here; Consuming Care, and raging Ire, And Poverty in poor attire, March fairly in, and last Despair; Now full Musick strike the Air. _Enter the Maskers, Fancy, Desire, Delight, Hope, Fear, Distrust, Jealousie, Care, Ire, Despair, they dance, after which_ Cupid _speaks._ _Cup._ Away, I have done, the day begins to light, Lovers, you know your fate, good night, good night. Cupid _and the Graces ascend in the Chariot._ _King._ Come to the Banquet, when that's ended Sir, I'le see you i' bed, and so good night; be merry, You have a sweet bed-fellow. _Val._ I thank your Grace, And ever shall be bound unto your nobleness. _King._ I pray I may deserve your thanks, set forward. [_Exeunt._ _Actus Tertius. Scena Prima._ _Enter divers Monks,_ Alphonso _going to the Tomb,_ Rugio, _and Frier_ Marco, _discover the Tomb and a Chair._ _Mar._ The night grows on, lead softly to the Tomb, And sing not till I bid ye; let the Musick Play gently as he passes. _Rug._ O fair picture, That wert the living hope of all our honours; How are we banisht from the joy we dreamt of! Will he ne're speak more? _Mar._ 'Tis full three moneths Lord _Rugio_, Since any articulate sound came from his tongue, Set him down gently. [_Sits in a Chair._ _Rug._ What should the reason be Sir? _Mar._ As 'tis in nature with those loving Husbands, That sympathize their wives pains, and their throes When they are breeding, and 'tis usuall too, We have it by experience; so in him Sir, In this most noble spirit that now suffers; For when his honour'd Father good _Brandino_ Fell sick, he felt the griefs, and labour'd with them, His fits and his disease he still inherited, Grew the same thing, and had not nature check'd him, Strength, and ability, he had dyed that hour too. _Rug._ Embleme of noble love!