SCENE I. -- A GROVE AND FOUNTAIN.
ENTER CUPID, AND MERCURY WITH HIS CADUCEUS, ON DIFFERENT
SIDES.
MER. 'Tis I, blind archer.
CUP. Not in your company, Hermes, except your hands were riveted at your
back.
MER. Why so, my little rover?
CUP. Because I know you have not a finger, but is as long as my quiver, cousin
Mercury, when you please to extend it.
MER. Whence derive you this speech, boy?
CUP. O! 'tis your best polity to be ignorant. You did never steal Mars his sword
out of the sheath, you! nor Neptune's trident! nor Apollo's bow! no, not you! Alas,
your palms, Jupiter knows, they are as tender as the foot of a foundered nag, or
a lady's face new mercuried, they'll touch nothing.
MER. Go to, infant, you'll be daring still.
CUP. Daring! O Janus! what a word is there? why, my light feather-heel'd coz,
what are you any more than my uncle Jove's pander? a lacquey that runs on
errands for him, and can whisper a light message to a loose wench with some
round volubility? wait mannerly at a table with a trencher, warble upon a crowd a
little, and fill out nectar when Ganymede's away? one that sweeps the god's
drinking-room every morning, and sets the cushions in order again, which they
threw one at another's head over night; can brush the carpets, call the stools
again to their places, play the crier of the court with an audible voice, and take
state of a president upon you at wrestlings, pleadings, negociations, etc. Here's
the catalogue of your employments, now! O, no, I err; you have the marshalling
