SCENE I. Sicilia. A Street in some Town.
[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' the offering!
But of all, the burst
And the ear-deaf'ning voice o' the oracle,
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense
That I was nothing.
If the event o' the 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!