Alt. It sounded like the clash of—hark again!
Zam. The big rain pattering on the roof.
Myrrha, my love, hast thou thy shell in order?
Sing me a song of Sappho[18]; her, thou know'st,
Who in thy country threw——
Enter Pania, with his sword and garments bloody, and disordered. The guests rise in confusion.
Pan. (to the Guards).Look to the portals;
And with your best speed to the walls without.
Your arms! To arms! The King's in danger. Monarch70