And here comes Joy's true herald.

Enter Myrrha.

Myr.‍King! the sky

Is overcast, and musters muttering thunder,

In clouds that seem approaching fast, and show

In forkéd flashes a commanding tempest.[r]540

Will you then quit the palace?

Sar.‍Tempest, say'st thou?

Myr. Aye, my good lord.

Sar.‍For my own part, I should be