_1 Pre._ Room, room for merry spirits, room, Hither on command we come, From the good old Beldam sent, Cares and sorrows to prevent. _2._ Look up _Silvio_, smile, and sing, After winter comes a Spring. _1._ Fear not faint fool what may follow, Eyes that now are sunk and hollow, By her Art may quick return To their flames again, and burn. _2._ Art commands all youth, and blood, Strength and beauty it makes good. _1._ Fear not then, despair not, sing Round about as we do spring: Cares and sorrows cast away, This is the old wives Holy-day. [_Dance here, then enter_ Belvidere. _Dutch._ Who is this? _Sy._ The shape of _Belvidere_. _Bel._ Now _Silvio_, How dost thou like me now? _Sil._ Thus I kneel to thee. _Bel._ Stand up, and come no nearer, mark me well too, For if thou troublest me, I vanish instantly: Now chuse wisely, or chuse never, One thou must enjoy for ever. Dost thou love me thus? _Sil._ Most dearly. _Bel._ Take heed fool, it concerns thee nearly. If thou wilt have me young and bright, Pleasing to thine eye and sight, Courtly, and admir'd of all, Take heed lest thy fame do fall, I shall then be full of scorn, Wanton, proud, beware the horn, Hating what I lov'd before, Flattery apt to fall before, All consuming, nothing getting, Thus thy fair name comes to setting. But if old, and free from these Thou shalt chuse me, I shall please: I shall then maintain thee still, With my virtue and my skill Still increase and build thy name, Chuse now _Silvio_ here I am. _Sil._ I know not what to say, which way to turn me, Into thy Soveraign will I put my answer. _Bel._ I thank ye Sir, and my Will thus rewards ye, Take your old Love, your best, your dearest _Silvio_: No more Spells now, nor further shapes to alter me, I am thy _Belvidere_ indeed. Dear Mother, There is no altering this; heavens hand is with it: And now you ought to give me, he has fairly won me. _Sil._ But why that Hag? _Bel._ In that shape most secure still, I followed all your fortunes, serv'd, and counsell'd ye, I met ye at the Farmers first, a Countrey wench, Where fearing to be known, I took that habit, And to make ye laughing sport at this mad marriage, By secret aid of my friend _Rhodope_ We got this Maske. _Sil._ And I am sure I have ye. _Bel._ For ever now, for ever. _Dutch._ You see it must be, The wheel of destiny hath turn'd it round so. _Sy._ It must, it is, and curs'd be he that breaks it. _Dutch._ I'll put a choice to you, Sir: ye are my prisoner. _Sy._ I am so, and I must be so, till it please you--