ENTER CUPID AND MERCURY, DISGUISED AS PAGES.
CUP. Why, this was most unexpectedly followed, my divine delicate Mercury, by
the beard of Jove, thou art a precious deity.
MER. Nay, Cupid, leave to speak improperly; since we are turn'd cracks, let's
study to be like cracks; practise their language, and behaviours, and not with a
dead imitation: Act freely, carelessly, and capriciously, as if our veins ran with
quicksilver, and not utter a phrase, but what shall come forth steep'd in the very
brine of conceit, and sparkle like salt in fire.
CUP. That's not every one's happiness, Hermes: Though you can presume upon
the easiness and dexterity of your wit, you shall give me leave to be a little
jealous of mine; and not desperately to hazard it after your capering humour.
MER. Nay, then, Cupid, I think we must have you hood-wink'd again; for you are
grown too provident since your eyes were at liberty.
CUP. Not so, Mercury, I am still blind Cupid to thee.
MER. And what to the lady nymph you serve?
CUP. Troth, page, boy, and sirrah: these are all my titles.
MER. Then thou hast not altered thy name with thy disguise?
CUP. O, no, that had been supererogation; you shall never hear your courtier
call but by one of these three.
MER. Faith, then both our fortunes are the same.
CUP. Why, what parcel of man hast thou lighted on for a master?
MER. Such a one as, before I begin to decipher him, I dare not affirm to be any
thing less than a courtier. So much he is during this open time of revels, and
would be longer, but that his means are to leave him shortly after. His name is
Hedon, a gallant wholly consecrated to his pleasures.
CUP. Hedon! he uses much to my lady's chamber, I think.
MER. How is she call'd, and then I can shew thee?
