_Anth._ O! _Jupiter_, if I have ever offer'd Upon thy burning Altars but one Sacrifice Thou and thy fair-ey'd _Juno_ smil'd upon; If ever, to thine honor, bounteous feasts, Where all thy statu[e]s sweet with wine and incense, Have by the son of earth been celebrated: Hear me (the child of shame now) hear thou helper, And take my wrongs into thy hands, thou justice Done by unmindful man, unmerciful, Against his master done, against thy order; And raise again, thou father of all honor, The poor despis'd, but yet thy noblest creature. Raise from his ruines once more this sunk Cedar, That all may fear thy power, and I proclaim it. [_Exeunt._ _Jupiter and Mercury descend severally. Trumpets_ _small above._ _Jup._ Ho! _Mercury_, my winged son. _Mer._ Your servant. _Jup._ Whose powerful prayers were those that reach'd our ears, Arm'd in such spells of pity now? _Mer._ The sad petitions Of the scorn'd son of earth, the god-like _Anthropos_, He that has swell'd your sacred fires with incense, And pil'd upon your Altars a thousand heifers; He that (beguil'd by _Vanity_ and _Pleasure_, _Desire_, _Craft_, _Flattery_, and smooth _Hypocrisie_) Stands now despis'd and ruin'd, left to _Poverty_. _Jup._ It must not be; he was not rais'd for ruine; Nor shall those hands heav'd at m[ine] Altars, perish: He is our noblest creature. Flee to _Time_, And charge him presently release the bands Of _Poverty_ and _Want_ this suitor sinks in: Tell him, among the Sun-burnt _Indians_, That know no other wealth but Peace and pleasure, She shall find golden _Plutus_, god of riches, Who idly is ador'd, the innocent people Not knowing yet what power and weight he carries: Bid him compell him to his right use, honor, And presently to live with _Anthropos_. It is our Will. Away. _Mer._ I do obey it. [_Jupiter and Mercury ascend again._ Musick. _Enter_ Plutus, _with a troop of_ Indians, _singing and_ _dancing wildly about him, and bowing to him: which ended, Enter_ Time. _Time._ Rise, and away; 'tis _Joves_ command. _Plut._ I will not: Ye have some fool to furnish now; some _Midas_ That to no purpose I must choak with riches. Who must I go to? _Time._ To the son of earth; He wants the god of wealth. _Plut._ Let him want still: I was too lately with him, almost torn Into ten thousand pieces by his followers: I could not sleep, but _Craft_ or _Vanity_ Were filing off my fingers; not eat, for fear _Pleasure_ would cast her self into my belly, And there surprize my heart. _Time._ These have forsaken him: Make haste then, thou must with me: be not angry, For fear a greater anger light upon thee.