Sicilia. On the road to the Capital
Enter CLEOMENES and DION
The climate's delicate, the air most sweet,
Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing
The common praise it bears.
I shall report,
For most it caught me, the celestial habits-
Methinks I so should term them- and the reverence
Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!
How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly,
It was i' th' off'ring!
But of all, the burst
And the ear-deaf'ning voice o' th' oracle,
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense
That I was nothing.
If th' event o' th' journey
Prove as successful to the Queen- O, be't so!-
As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,
The time is worth the use on't.
Turn all to th' best! These proclamations,
So forcing faults upon Hermione,
I little like.
The violent carriage of it
Will clear or end the business. When the oracle-
Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up-
Shall the contents discover, something rare
Even then will rush to knowledge. Go; fresh horses.
And gracious be the issue!