Sir _Tun._ [_To ~Lov~. and ~Wor~._] Gentlemen, you are welcome. [_Saluting ~Aman~. and ~Ber~._] Ladies, by your leave. Ha----They bill like Turtles. Udsookers, they set my old Blood a-fire; I shall cuckold some body before Morning. _Lord Fop._ [_To Sir ~Tun~._] Sir, you being Master of the Entertainment, will you desire the Company to sit? Sir _Tun._ Oons, Sir,----I'm the happiest Man on this side the _Ganges_. _Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] This is a mighty unaccountable old Fellow. [_To Sir ~Tun~._] I said, Sir, it wou'd be convenient to ask the Company to sit. Sir _Tun._ Sit----with all my heart: Come, take your places, Ladies; take your places, Gentlemen: Come, sit down, sit down; a Pox of Ceremony, take your places. [_They sit, and the Mask begins._ Dialogue between _Cupid_ and _Hymen_. Cupid. 1. _Thou Bane to my Empire, thou Spring of Contest, Thou Source of all Discord, thou Period to Rest; Instruct me what Wretches in Bondage can see, That the Aim of their Life is still pointed to thee._ Hymen. 2. _Instruct me, thou little impertinent God, From whence all thy Subjects have taken the Mode To grow fond of a Change, to whatever it be, And I'll tell thee why those wou'd be bound, who are free._ Chorus. _For Change, we're for Change, to whatever it be, We are neither contented with Freedom nor Thee. Constancy's an empty Sound, Heaven, and Earth, and all go round, All the Works of Nature move, And the Joys of Life and Love Are in Variety._ Cupid. 3. _Were Love the Reward of a pains-taking Life, Had a Husband the Art to be fond of his Wife; Were Virtue so plenty, a Wife cou'd afford, These very hard Times, to be true to her Lord; Some specious Account might be given of those Who are ty'd by the Tail, to be led by the Nose._ 4. _But since 'tis the Fate of a Man and his Wife, To consume all their Days in Contention and Strife: Since whatever the Bounty of Heaven may create her, He's morally sure he shall heartily hate her; I think 'twere much wiser to ramble at large, And the Volleys of Love on the Herd to discharge._ Hymen. 5. _Some colour of Reason thy Counsel might bear, Cou'd a Man have no more than his Wife to his share; Or were I a Monarch so cruelly just, To oblige a poor Wife to be true to her Trust; But I have not pretended, for many Years past, By marrying of People, to make 'em grow chaste._ 6.