University of Virginia Library

The Dialogue.

Iuno.
Since this yong Trojan Swain to heav'n thou hast brought,
O Iupiter, thou set'st thy Wife at nought.

Iupit.
Of him too art thou jealous, a poore Swaine,
Though beautifull, yet innocent and plaine?
I was in hope thou only hadst a spleen
To women, such as I before have been
Familiar with.

Iuno.
Nor hast thou made expression
Of thy great deitie in such transgression,
Nor done such things as have thee well beseem'd;
Who being a god above the rest esteem'd,
Descendest downe to earth, making it full
Of thy Adulteries: somtimes like a Bull;
Then like a golden Showre, and keeping still
Those Prostitutes below to sate thy will.
But now againe, Thou, mightiest of the dieties,
Lest that there should be end of thy impieties;
Being now inflam'd with an unheard desire,
Hast this yong Phrygian Lad snatcht from his Sire,
Brought hither to out-brave me, and set ods
Betwixt us, filling Nectar to the gods.
Is there such want of Cup bearers? or weary
Is Hebe yet, or Vulcan, to make merry
Thy Guests invited? that no sooner thou
Tak'st from his hand the bowle, but straight to bow
And kisse his sweet lip, nay in all our sight:
In that kisse seeming to take more delight,
Than in the Nectar drunke: but which is worst,
Oft callst for drinke when there's no cause of thirst;
And as in sport (but sipping) thy arme stretchest,
And the full Chalice to the Wanton reachest,
And he but t sting, as shall please him best,
Then to his health carowsest all the rest;
And in the same place where his lip did touch,
Thou tak'st thy draught, thy lewd desire is such,
With heedfulnesse and care noting the brim,
So, at once kissing both the cup and him.
Not long since too, this King and potent Father
Of men and all mortalitie, the rather
To sport with him, his Scepter laid aside,
And thunders, with which late he terrify'de
The lower world. And speake, was not this wrong
To a Brow so great? a Beard so full and long?
All this I have seen, all these I have endur'd,
And nothing's done that is to me obscur'd.

Iupiter.
Why's this to thee so grievous, ô my wife,
That it should raise betwixt us the least strife?
That a yong Lad, so faire and sweet as this,
Should please me both with Nectar and a kisse?
Shouldst thou but taste those lips (which I am loth)
Thou wouldst not blame me to prefer them both
Before all Nectar and Ambrosia too;
Nay, if thou didst, even so thy selfe would doo.

Iuno.
These are the words of masculine love, much hated,
Nor am I mad, to be degenerated
By base effeminacies as to take delight
In the loath'd kisses of a Catamite.

Iup.
Pray (you most generous) do not so deprave
Those loves and pleasures I am pleas'd to have:
This pretty sweet effeminat Lad to me
Is dearer far—but I'le not anger thee.

Iuno.
I wish in my place you had that Lad wedded,
With whom you ofter than with me have bedded
Since his arrive: your loath'd wife shall bethinke her,
How better to behave her toward your Skinker.

Iup.
Is't only fit, Vulcan thy son should fill
Nectar, who being lame is apt to spill;
And bluntly running from the furnace, smells
Of smoke, dust, sweat, and what I know not else,
With sparks scarce quencht, before the gods to stand,
His sooty tongs new laid out of his hand,
To take from him the goblet? which being done,
To embrace, then kisse thy most deformed sonne;
Whom scarcely thou his mother wouldst so grace,
Fearing his smudg'd lips should begrime thy face.
Is he that only sweet Youth must adorne
The gods high banquets, being made their scorne?
And therefore must this Phrygian be confin'd,
Because hee's cleare in looks, as pure in mind?
Whose face so smooth, whose tongue doth so excell,
And in all points becomes the place so well.
But that which most torments thee, since his kisse
Many degrees more sweet than Nectar is:

Iuno.
Now Vulcan vnto thee (ô Iove) seems lame,
His forge, his apron, tongs, and tooles, thy shame:
What nastinesse? What loathsomnesse? but hee
Now at this instant doth appeare to thee
Infected with; whilst thou before thee hast
That faire fac'd Trojan Lad? but in times past,
None of this foule deformitie was seen,
No sparks, no soot, no dust to move thy spleen:
His furnace in those daies did not affright thee,
But then his filling Nectar much delight thee.

Iupit.
Thou mak'st thy selfe sicke of thine old disease,
O Iuno, and this Trojan doth more please,
Because of him th'art jealous: if thou scorne
From him to take the Cup; of thy selfe borne
Thou hast to fill thee, Vulcan, one so smug,
As if he gap'd still for his mothers dug.
But thou, ô Ganimed, to me alone
Reach the rich bowle. Two kisses for that one
I'le give thee still, when I receive it first,
And when returne it, having quencht my thirst,
Why weep'st thou? feare not, they that mean thee harme,
Mischiefe are sure to taste. Sweet boy thyne arme.