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appear, and pertly.

       No tongue! all eyes! be silent.

       [Soft music]

       [A Masque. Enter IRIS]

       IRIS.

       Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas

       Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas;

       Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,

       And flat meads thatch’d with stover, them to keep;

       Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,

       Which spongy April at thy hest betrims,

       To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves,

       Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,

       Being lass-lorn: thy pole-clipt vineyard;

       And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,

       Where thou thyself dost air: the Queen o’ the sky,

       Whose watery arch and messenger am I,

       Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace,

       Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,

       To come and sport; her peacocks fly amain:

       Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.

       [Enter CERES]

       CERES.

       Hail, many-colour’d messenger, that ne’er

       Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter;

       Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers

       Diffusest honey drops, refreshing showers:

       And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown

       My bosky acres and my unshrubb’d down,

       Rich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queen

       Summon’d me hither to this short-grass’d green?

       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

       The means that dusky Dis my daughter got,

       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

       Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done

       Some wanton charm upon this man and maid,

       Whose vows are, that no bed-rite shall be paid

       Till Hymen’s torch be lighted; but in vain.

       Mars’s hot minion is return’d again;

       Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows,

       Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows,

       And be a boy right out.

       CERES.

       Highest Queen of State,

       Great Juno comes; I know her by her gait.

       [Enter JUNO.]

       JUNO.

       How does my bounteous sister? Go with me

       To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be,

       And honour’d in their issue.

       SONG

       JUNO.

       Honour, riches, marriage-blessing,

       Long continuance, and increasing,

       Hourly joys be still upon you!

       Juno sings her blessings on you.

       CERES.

       Earth’s increase, foison plenty,

       Barns and gamers never empty;

       Vines with clust’ring bunches growing;

       Plants with goodly burden bowing;

       Spring come to you at the farthest,

       In the very end of harvest!

       Scarcity and want shall shun you;

       Ceres’ blessing so is on you.

       FERDINAND.

       This is a most majestic vision, and

       Harmonious charmingly; may I be bold

       To think these spirits?

       PROSPERO.

       Spirits, which by mine art

       I have from their confines call’d to enact

       My present fancies.

       FERDINAND.

       Let me live here ever:

       So rare a wonder’d father and a wise,

       Makes this place Paradise.

       [JUNO and CERES whisper, and send IRIS on employment.]

       PROSPERO.

       Sweet now, silence!

       Juno and Ceres whisper seriously,

       There’s something else to do: hush, and be mute,

       Or else our spell is marr’d.

       IRIS.

       You nymphs, call’d Naiads, of the windring brooks,

       With your sedg’d crowns and ever-harmless looks,

       Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land

       Answer your summons: Juno does command.

       Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate

       A contract of true love: be not too late.

       [Enter certain NYMPHS]

       You sunburn’d sicklemen, of August weary,

       Come hither from the furrow, and be merry:

       Make holiday: your rye-straw hats put on,

       And these fresh nymphs encounter every one

       In country footing.

       [Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they join] with the Nymphs in a graceful dance; towards the end whereof PROSPERO starts suddenly, and speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish.]

       PROSPERO.

       [Aside] I had forgot that foul conspiracy

       Of the beast Caliban and his confederates

       Against my life: the minute of their plot

       Is almost come. [To the Spirits.] Well done! avoid; no

       more!

       FERDINAND.

       This is strange: your father’s in some passion

       That works him strongly.

       MIRANDA.

       Never till this day

       Saw I him touch’d with anger so distemper’d.

       PROSPERO.

       You do look, my son, in a mov’d sort,

       As if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir:

       Our revels now are ended. These our actors,

       As I foretold you, were all spirits and

       Are melted into air, into thin air:

       And, like the baseless

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