Song: Now, My Cunning Lady, Moon

Now, my cunning lady, moon,
Can you leave the side, so soon,
Of the boy, you keep so hid?
Midwife Juno sure will say,
This is not the proper way,
Of your paleness to be rid.
But, perhaps, it is your grace
To wear sickness in your face,
That there might be wagers laid
Still, by fools, you are a maid.
Come, your changes overthrow,
What your look would carry so;
Moon, confess then, what you are,
And be wise, and free to use
Pleasures that you now do lose
Let us Satyrs have a share.
Though our forms be rough and rude,
Yet our acts may be endued
With more virtue: every one
Cannot be ENDYMION.