Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace, To come and sport :—her peacocks fly amain: Enter CERES CERES Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers Rich scarf to my proud earth ;-why hath thy queen IRIS A contract of true love to celebrate; And some donation freely to estate On the blest lovers. CERES Tell me, heavenly bow, If Venus or her son, as thou dost know, Do now attend the queen? Since they did plot Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company I have forsworn. IRIS Of her society Be not afraid I met her deity Cutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son Dor M |