her feet, and the twelve Masquers standing about them. After they had been a while viewed, PROMETHEUS descended, and NATURE after him, singing.

Nat. How young and fresh am I to-night,
To see't kept day by so much light.

And twelve my sons stand in their maker's sight?
Help, wise Prometheus, something must be done,
To shew they are the creatures of the Sun;
That each to other

Is a brother,

And Nature here no step-dame, but a mother.

Cho. Come forth, come forth, prove all the numbers then,

That make perfection up, and may absolve you men.

Nat. But shew thy winding ways and arts,
Thy risings, and thy timely starts,
Of stealing fire from ladies' eyes and hearts.
Those softer circles are the young man's heaven,
And there more orbs and planets are than seven,
To know whose motion

Were a notion

As worthy of youth's study, as devotion.

Cho. Come forth, come forth, prove all the time will gain,

For Nature bids the best, and never bade in vain.

Here the first DANCE.

After which this

SONG.

Pro. How many 'mongst these ladies here,
Wish now they such a mother were!
Not one, I fear,

Nat.

Pro. You think they would not be so old,
For so much glory.

Nat.

I think that thought so told
Is no false piece of story.
'Tis yet with them but beauty's noon,
They would not grandames be too soon.
Is that your sex's humour?

'Tis then since Niobe was chang'd, that they have
left that tumour.

Cho. Move, move again, in forms as heretofore. 'Tis form allures.

Nat.

Then move, the ladies here are store. Pro. Nature is Motion's mother, as she's yours. Cho. The spring whence order flows, that all directs, And knits the causes with the effects.

Here they dance the main DANCE.

Then they dance with the Ladies;

Then their last Dance.

After which, PROMETHEUS calls to them in this

Pro.

And read it in their laughters:

There's more, I guess, would wish to be my

daughters.

And can you from such beauty part?
You'll do a wonder more than I.

I woman with her ills did fly;

Cho.

But you their good, and them deny.
Sure each hath left his heart
In pawn to come again, or else he durst not start.

Or sure they are no sons of mine.
There is no banquet, boys, like this,
If you hope better, you will miss;
Stay here, and take each one a kiss.
Which if you can refine,

Cho.
The taste knows no such cates, nor yet the palate wine.
No cause of tarrying shun,

They are not worth his light, go backward from the sun.

THE GOLDEN AGE RESTORED.

IN A MASQUE AT COURT,

1615.

BY THE LORDS AND GENTLEMEN, THE
KING'S SERVANTS.