Bespeak Asander coming. What an air
Of youth and morning breathes round him, and brings
A light of hope again!
Enter Asander from the chase.
Asan. My dearest sire and King, art thou thus grave
Of choice, or does our good Lysimachus,
Bringing unwonted loads of carking care,
O'ercloud thy brow? I prithee, father, fret not;
There is no cloud of care I yet have known—