CUP. Not in your company, Hermes, except your hands were riveted at
your back.

MER. Why so, my little rover?

CUP. Because I know you have not a finger, but is as long as my
quiver, cousin Mercury, when you please to extend it.

MER. Whence derive you this speech, boy?

CUP. O! 'tis your best polity to be ignorant. You did never steal
Mars his sword out of the sheath, you! nor Neptune's trident! nor
Apollo's bow! no, not you! Alas, your palms, Jupiter knows, they
are as tender as the foot of a foundered nag, or a lady's face new
mercuried, they'll touch nothing.

MER. Go to, infant, you'll be daring still.

CUP. Daring! O Janus! what a word is there? why, my light
feather-heel'd coz, what are you any more than my uncle Jove's
pander? a lacquey that runs on errands for him, and can whisper a
light message to a loose wench with some round volubility? wait
mannerly at a table with a trencher, warble upon a crowd a little,
and fill out nectar when Ganymede's away? one that sweeps the god's
drinking-room every morning, and sets the cushions in order again,
which they threw one at another's head over night; can brush the
carpets, call the stools again to their places, play the crier of
the court with an audible voice, and take state of a president upon
you at wrestlings, pleadings, negociations, etc. Here's the