| [Enter CLEOMENES and DION] | |
| CLEOMENES | The climate's delicate, the air most sweet, Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing The common praise it bears. |
| DION | 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! |
| CLEOMENES | But of all, the burst And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle, Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense. That I was nothing. |
| DION | 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. |
| CLEOMENES | Great Apollo Turn all to the best! These proclamations, So forcing faults upon Hermione, I little like. |
| DION | 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! |
| [Exeunt] |