Both to be silent, and to speak in season.
For what remains, his present aid I ask,
Who laid on my poor wits this bloody task.[n44] [Exeunt.
CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Earth breeds a fearful progeny,[n45]
To man a hostile band.
With finny monsters teems the sea,
With creeping plagues the land;
And winged portents scour mid-air,
And flaring lightnings fly,