Camma.
Artemis, Artemis, hear me, Galatian Artemis!
I call on our own Goddess in our own Temple.
Chorus.
Artemis, Artemis, hear her, Galatian Artemis!
[Thunder. All rise.
Synorix (aside).
Thunder! Ay, ay, the storm was drawing hither
Across the hills when I was being crown’d.
I wonder if I look as pale as she?