| Enter the Nymphs and Satyrs singing - |
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| Sung by Plot-thrift and Cozen |
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| Old Tithon must forsake his dear |
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| Come let us be frolic and call for our tipple |
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| My love can sing no other song |
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| Submit, bunch of grapes |
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| Enter the Masque and the Song - |
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| So, so |
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| Come, follow your leader, follow |
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| They all join hands and dance in a ring, answering all together at the Chorus - |
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And I mus say
That you did a fine
Job writting your poem