Scene III.
Juno and Bacchus.
BACCHUS.
Recitative.
Now, pretty Mistress Maia, I'm your humble—
But faith, I'd better look before I tumble:
For should the little gipsy make resistance,
And call in witnesses to her assistance,
Then, Bacchus, should your friends or sister fail ye,
You'll look confounded queer at the Old Bailey.
Air.
The man that has no friend at court,
Must make the laws confine his sport;
But he that has, by dint of flaws,
May make his sport confine the laws.
Recitative.
Zounds! I've a project, and a fine one too—
What will not passion and invention do?
I'll imitate the voice and sound of Jove,
The girl's ambition won't withstand his love.
But should she squawl, and cry a rape, and scream on't,
Presto, I'm gone, and Jove will bear the blame on't.
The farce begins, the prologue's wonderous teasing,
Pray Cupid, the catastrophe be pleasing!
Air.
Oh! where is my Maia? O say
What shadow conceals the fair maid?
Bring hither the lantern of day,
And shew me where Maia is laid.
Envious vapours, fly away;
Come, ye streaming lights, discover,
To an ardent, dying lover,
Maia and the charms of day.
JUNO.
Recitative.
[Aside.
I have you fast—by all my wrongs, I'll fit ye—
Wise as you are, perhaps I may outwit ye.
Air.
Here thy longing Maia lies,
Passion flaming in her eyes;
Whilst her heart
Is thumping, beating,
All in a heat, in
Every part:
Like the ocean,
All commotion,
Through her veins the billows roll,
And the soft tempest ruffles all her soul.
BACCHUS.
Recitative.
[Aside.
Gods! I have struck upon the very minute;
I shall be happy, or the devil's in it:
It seems some assignation was intended,
I'd pump it—but least said is soonest mended.
Air.
Happy, happy, happy hour!
Cupid now exalts his power;
In my breast the passion raging,
All my trembling frame engaging,
Sets my every sense on fire;
Let us, Maia, now retire.
JUNO.
Recitative.
But say, should I resign my virgin charms,
Would you be ever constant to my arms?
Would not your Juno rob me of your kindness?
Must you not truckle to her royal highness?
BACCHUS.
No! by the dirty waves of Styx I swear it,
My love is yours—my wife shall never share it.
JUNO,
aside.
'Tis a sad compliment, but I must bear it.
BACCHUS.
Air.
Then let's away,
And never delay,
'Tis folly to stay
From rapture and love:
I sicken, I die;
O come, let us fly,
From the blue vaulted sky
To the Paphian Grove.
JUNO.
Then away!
I obey
Love and nature.
BACCHUS.
Since 'tis so,
Let us go,
Dearest creature!
