And, as thy place is nearest to the sky,
The rays will reach thee first, and bleach thy soot.
Phil. In hope of that, I spread my azure wings;
And wishing still,—for yet I dare not pray,—
I bask in day-light, and behold, with joy,
My scum work outward, and my rust wear off.
Mer. Why, 'tis my hopeful devil. Now mark me, Philidel;
I will employ thee, for thy future good.
Thou know'st, in spite of valiant Oswald's arms,
Or Osmond's powerful spells, the field is ours.