_Nis._ This ill wind yet may blow the City good, And let them, (if they can) get their own children, They have hung long enough in doubt, but howsoever, the old way was the surer, then they had 'em. _Dor._ Farewel my Lords, I'll e'en take up what Rent I can before the day, I fear the year will fall out ill. _Age._ We'll with you Sir: And love so favour us, As we are still thy servants. Come my Lords; Let's to the Duke, and tell him to what folly His doting now has brought him. [_Exeunt._ _Priest of_ Cupid, _with four young men_ _and Maids_. _Priest._ Come my children, let your feet, In an even measure meet: And your chearful voices rise, For to present this Sacrifice; Lo great _Cupid_, in whose name, I his _Priest_ begin the same. Young men take your Loves and kiss, Thus our _Cupid_ honour'd is Kiss again, and in your kissing, Let no promises be missing: Nor let any Maiden here, Dare to turn away her ear, Unto the whisper of her Love, But give Bracelet, Ring or Glove, As a token to her sweeting, Of an after secret meeting: Now boy sing to stick our hearts Fuller of great _Cupid's_ darts. SONG. _Lovers rejoyce, your pains shall be rewarded,_ _The god of Love himself grieves at your crying:_ _No more shall frozen honor be regarded,_ _Nor the coy faces of a Maids denying._ _No more shall Virgins sigh, and say we dare not,_ _For men are false, and what they do they care not,_ _All shall be well again, then do not grieve,_ _Men shall be true, and Women shall believe._ _Lovers rejoyce, what you shall say henceforth._ _When you have caught your Sweet-hearts in your arms,_ _It shall be accounted Oracle, and Worth:_ _No more faint-hearted Girls shall dream of harms,_ _And cry they are too young, the god hath said,_ _Fifteen shall make a Mother of a Maid:_ _Then wise men, pull your Roses yet unblown,_ _Love hates the too ripe fruit that falls alone._ The Measure. _After the Measure, Enter_ Nilo _and others_. _Nilo._ No more of this: here break your Rights for ever, The Duke commands it so; Priest do not stare, I must deface your Temple, though unwilling, And your god _Cupid_ here must make a Scare-crow For any thing I know, or at the best, Adorn a Chimney-piece. _Priest._ Oh Sacriledge unheard of!