Fran. Have you any children?


Cam. None, my lord.


Fran. You are the happier:
I 'll tell you a tale.


Cam. Pray, my lord.


Fran. An old tale.
Upon a time Phœbus, the god of light,
Or him we call the sun, would need to be married:
The gods gave their consent, and Mercury
Was sent to voice it to the general world.
But what a piteous cry there straight arose
Amongst smiths and felt-makers, brewers and cooks,
Reapers and butter-women, amongst fishmongers,
And thousand other trades, which are annoyed
By his excessive heat! 'twas lamentable.
They came to Jupiter all in a sweat,
And do forbid the banns. A great fat cook
Was made their speaker, who entreats of Jove
That Phœbus might be gelded; for if now,
When there was but one sun, so many men
Were like to perish by his violent heat,