University of Virginia Library

The Dialogve.

Vulcan.
Hast thou not seen (Apollo) the yong Brat
So late brought forth by lovely Maia? that
Looks in his swathes so beautifully faire,
Snarling on all such as about him are;
Whom no one that beholds him, but surmises
That he is borne for some great enterprises?

Apollo.
Shall I (ô Vulcan) him an infant call?
Or thinke him borne for any good at all?
Who for his craft and subtiltie (I vow)
Is than Iapetus older.

Vulcan.
Tell me how?
What wrong can this yong Baby do, I pray,
Who came into the world but yesterday?

Apollo.
Aske Neptune that, whose Trident he hath stolne:
Demand of Mars, (with rage and anger swolne)
Whether his braine least subtiltie afford?
Out of whose scabberd he hath stolne his sword?
Or let me speake what by my selfe I know:
From me unwares my quiver and my bow
He slily snatcht.

Vulcan.
How can it be, his hands
Being ty'd up so close in swathing bands.

Apollo.
Yet be not thou too confident, I intreat thee,
For come he neere thy shop, hee'l likewise heat thee.

Vulcan.
He was with me but now.

Apollo.
Dost thou misdoubt thee
Of nothing lost? hast all thy tooles about thee?
What, not one wanting?

Vulc.
None.

Apollo.
Free from his wrongs
Art thou alone?

Vulc.
By Iove I misse my tongs,
Th'are stolne out of my forge.

Apoll.
These thou shalt finde
About him hid, do but his swathes unbinde.

Vulc.
Hath he such catching fingers? (past beleeving)
Sure in his mothers wombe he studied theeving.

Apollo.
Didst thou not heare him, Vulcan, talke and prate
With voluble tongue, and phrases accurate?
Now in his infancie, so yong, so small,
Offering to be a servant to us all.
No sooner borne, but Cupid he did dare
To try a fall with him, and threw him faire.
Him Venus for his victorie embrac't,
For which he steales her girdle from her wast.
Iove smiling at the theft, and therewith pleas'd,
Mean time the crafty wag his Scepter seis'd:
To steale his Trisulke he had made a shift,
But 'twas too heavy for his strength to lift.

Vulc.
Thou telst me of a Lad active and daring,
A nimble jugling Iack.

Apollo.
Nay, hee's not sparing
To professe Musicke too.

Uulc.
How is that knowne?

Apoll.
Th' invention too he seekes to make his owne:
Having the shell of a dead Tortoise found,
He makes an instrument thereof for sound;
To which a crooked necke he first made fast,
Boring therein round holes, and in them plac't
Pinnes to winde up the cords by: to th' Shells backe
A belly frames: seven strings, which he doth slacke,
And sometimes stretch, he fixeth; which but touch,
They yeeld a sweet sound that delighteth much.
Whose notes I envy, be they flat or sharpe.
Since he contends to exceed me in my Harpe.
Even Maia's selfe I oft have heard complaine,
She cannot in the heavens her son containe:
His ever-waking braine, in action still,
Can take no rest: by night (against her will)
In silence he conveyes himselfe to hell,
Whether to steale ought thence she cannot tell.
Besides, he hath wings, a Caducæus too
Of a miraculous power, and force to doo
Things wonderfull, by which he can bestow
Soules hence departed, in the fields below,
Or thence convey them hither.

Vulc.
Most sure I will
Adde something to encourage his rare skill.

Apoll.
Which he hath well requited; for to day
(No longer since) he stole thy tongs away.

Vulc.
'Twas well done to remember me of this,
Because my tongs are tooles I cannot misse.
Somewhere about him they are still, no doubt:
But first the fire I'le in my forge put out.