than a new love-affair. Jupiter scornfully assures her that this is quite a different matter. It is a question which concerns the honour and status of all the court of Olympus; men are actually discussing among themselves upon earth whether they shall hereafter do worship and sacrifice to the gods at all. A council of the immortals must be held at once on urgent affairs; although Minerva, with a cautious prudence which will always find imitators, suggests that it would be better to leave such questions to settle themselves, and that the safest way to treat scepticism is to ignore it. But her counsel is overruled, and Mercury has orders to summon a general assembly of the gods forthwith.
Mercury. O yes, O yes! the gods are to come to council immediately! No delay—all to be present—come, come! upon urgent affairs of state.
Jupiter. What! do you summon them in that bald, inartificial, prosaic fashion, Mercury—and on a business of such high importance?
Merc. Why, how would you have it done, then?
Jup. How would I have it done? I say, proclamation should be made in dignified style—in verse of some kind, and with a sort of poetical grandeur. They would be more likely to come.
Merc. Possibly. But that's the business of your epic poets and rhapsodists—I'm not at all poetical myself. I should infallibly spoil the job, by putting in a foot too much or a foot too little, and only get myself laughed at for my bungling poetry. I hear even Apollo himself ridiculed for some of his poetical
