o have
made the whole body of divinity tremble at the twang of our bow,
and enforc'd Saturnius himself to lay by his curled front, thunder,
and three-fork'd fires, and put on a masking suit, too light for a
reveller of eighteen to be seen in--

MER. How now! my dancing braggart in decimo sexto! charm your
skipping tongue, or I'll--

CUP. What! use the virtue of your snaky tip staff there upon us?

MER. No, boy, but the smart vigour of my palm about your ears.
You have forgot since I took your heels up into air, on the very
hour I was born, in sight of all the bench of deities, when the
silver roof of the Olympian palace rung again with applause of
the fact.

CUP. O no, I remember it freshly, and by a particular instance;
for my mother Venus, at the same time, but stoop'd to embrace you,
and, to speak by metaphor, you borrow'd a girdle of her's, as you
did Jove's sceptre while he was laughing; and would have done his
thunder too, but that 'twas too hot for your itching fingers.

MER. 'Tis well, sir.

CUP. I heard, you but look'd in at Vulcan's forge the other day,
and entreated a pair of his new tongs along with you for company:
'tis joy on you, i' faith, that you will keep your hook'd talons in
practice with any thing. 'Slight, now you are on earth, we shall
have you filch spoons and candlesticks rather than fail: pray Jove
the perfum'd courtiers keep their casting-bottles, pick-tooths, and
shittle-cocks from you, or our more ordinary gallants their
tobacco-boxes; for I am strangely jealous of your nails.

MER. Never trust me, Cupid, but you are turn'd a most acute
gallant of late! the edge of my wit is clean taken off with the
fine and subtile stroke of your thin-ground tongue; you fight with
too poignant a phrase, for me to deal with.

CUP. O Hermes, your craft cannot make me confident. I know my own
steel to be almost spent, and therefore entreat my peace with you,
in time: you are too cunning for me to encounter at length, and I
think it my safest ward to close.

MER. Well, for once, I'll suffer you to win upon me, wag; but use
not these strains too often, they'll stretch my patience. Whither
might you march, now?

CUP. Faith, to recover thy good thoughts, I'll discover my whole
project. The huntress and queen of these groves, Diana, in regard
of some black and envious sl