And you from all your Toils be freed,
When by your Hand the Foe shall bleed:
And e’er the Sun’s swift course be run,
This mighty Conquest shall be won.
King. I thank the Gods for taking care of us; prepare new Sacrifice against the Evening, when I return a Conqueror, I will my self perform the Office of a Priest.
Queen. Oh, Sir, I fear you’ll fall a Victim first.
King. What means Semernia? why are thy Looks so pale?
Queen. Alas, the Oracles have double meanings, their Sense is doubtful, and their Words Enigmas: I fear, Sir, I cou’d make a truer Interpretation.
King. How, Semernia! by all thy Love I charge thee, as you respect my Life, to let me know your Thoughts.
Queen. Last Night I dream’d a Lyon fell with hunger, spite of your Guards, slew you, and bore you hence.