Once more farewell, and prosper. [Exit Merlin.
Arth. [walking.] No danger yet; I see no walls of fire,
No city of the fiends, with forms obscene,
To grin from far on flaming battlements.
This is indeed the grove I should destroy;
But where's the horror? sure the prophet erred.—
Hark! music, and the warbling notes of birds! [Soft Music.
Hell entertains me, like some welcome guest.—
More wonders yet! yet all delightful too:
A silver current to forbid my passage,