I feel like a new-pardoned prisoner
Tasting the air. Smile, sweet! Those lily lids
Shall droop no more with woe I lay upon them.
[Enter Methone with robes]
Now, now, Methone, make me young again.
O, not that robe! Tis for a grandame that.
My sky-gray mantle with its falling softness
Broidered like sunset clouds!
[Exit Methone]
The. I beg you, sweet——