THE SECULAR MASQUE.[45]


_Enter_ JANUS.

_Janus_. Chronos, Chronos, mend thy pace;
An hundred times the rolling sun
Around the radiant belt has run
In his revolving race.
Behold, behold the goal in sight,
Spread thy fans, and wing thy flight.

_Enter_ CHRONOS, _with a scythe in his hand, and a globe
on his back; which he sets down at his entrance_.

_Chronos_. Weary, weary of my weight,
Let me, let me drop my freight,
And leave the world behind.
I could not bear, 10
Another year,
The load of human kind.

_Enter_ MOMUS, _laughing_.

_Momus_. Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! well hast thou done
To lay down thy pack,
And lighten thy back.
The world was a fool, ere since it begun,
And since neither Janus nor Chronos, nor I,
Can hinder the crimes,