The. Then thou hast topped
The very summit of thy bold desire.
Phil. True! Aspiration now, lit like a lark
On Fortune's steeple, sings above all hazard.
My loved Theano, thou 'rt queen of Syracuse;
We'll sleep to-night like happy royalty
In honor's bed.
The. The stone of Sisyphus
Will gather moss ere that may be, Phillistus.
You gave the safety of your stable house