Thou frightenest and confound'st me by thy words.
O were but Arcas come, all would be well?
The Chorus
If so, all's well: for look, the old man speeds
Up from the city tow'rd this gated hill.
[Arcas comes in.
Merope
Not with the failing breath and foot of age
My faithful follower comes. Welcome, old friend!
Arcas
Faithful, not welcome, when my tale is told.
O that my over-speed and bursting grief
Had on the journey choked my labouring breath,
And lock'd my speech for ever in my breast!
Yet then another man would bring this news,
Wherewith from end to end Arcadia rings.—
O honour'd Queen, thy son, my charge, is gone.
The Chorus
Too suddenly thou tellest such a loss.
Look up, O Queen! look up, O mistress dear!
Look up, and see thy friends who comfort thee.