_Ceres:_ A fair excuse, I own, the sight! Theseus deserted her last night. _2d Dryad:_ How knew you that, my lady dear? _Ceres:_ Well sought--for I was far from here: Whiles o'er the crisp Ionian main I shook the winnowed dragon rein-- _3d Dryad:_ Invented error! Sister! fie! Our Queen has trapped you in a lie. _2d Dryad:_ A lie! _Ceres_ A lie? _3d Dryad:_ Deceit forgets How Truth is always trailing nets. While you, sweet Empress, berry crowned, Were on the Ionian westward bound, Our sister puffed you towards the east, With words about a wedding feast. _Ceres_ How thin a bubble blame may be! I sought for doves in Italy; But orient was my main intent, And on an Indian nuptial bent. _2d Dryad:_ Now honey-lips, the lie is where? _4th Dryad:_ She weeps-- _2d Dryad:_ Fool fingered thing!-- _Ceres_ Forbear. Whiles o'er the crisp Ionian main I shook the winnowed dragon rein, A Triton clove the wake behind, And, with a hailing will, did wind Such parley through his crankled horn, As all the air was echo torn. I stayed--he told what did betide Of truant Theseus and his bride; Which having heard, I did repair Unto that subterranean lair Wherein the dreadful Sisters three Vex out the threads of destiny, But they were sorely overtasked; So techy, too, that when I asked If he could not be plagued for this Unloving piece of business, With knots and burs upon his thread, They would not speak, nor lift the head: Yet saw I how his flax did run Smoothly, and much is yet unspun. _4th Dryad:_ Sweet Queen, adieu--come, let's away, We keep no sunshine holiday. _Ceres_ Stay, children, stay. Poor things! I do remember me, How I did seek Proserpine. We must not leave her thus forlorn: Auroral grace in her is born, And, rarer else, the finest sense Of feeling and intelligence. Mortals of such ethereal grain Are quickened both for joy and pain; Theirs is the affluence of joy, And pain that sorely doth annoy. And, therefore, if we leave her thus, To find the truth of Theseus, She will, with such a madness burn, And do herself so sad a turn, As that the very thought erewhile, Will drive us all to quit the isle. _1st Dryad:_ Alack! O no! What must be done? _Ceres_ Go, you, and you, and every one-- To stay such heart distracting harm, Go, each bring flowers upon her arm: Pink, pansy, poppy, pimpernell, Acanthus, almond, asphodel. [The Dryads disperse and gather flowers with which they return to Ceres.]