Meg. Write that upon the clouds, that eyes
Of men and angels may contending claim
The truth for earth and heaven!
Hud. Tush, sir, tush!
Meg. Can I forget how at your kingly touch
My fair Peonia, paling in treason's grip,
Thrilled from her deathward droop, renewed her heart
Through safe, ease-lidded nights, and woke once more
The rose of fortune?
Hud. There's no rumble now
Of riot?
Meg. Not a sound comes to our ears
But from the toiling strokes that steadily
Uproll Peonia's wealth.
Hud. Yet those who led
The last revolt are free.
Meg. Not all, your Highness.
A few crossed to Assaria, but expedition
Warms on their trail. Rejan LeVal is tracked
To your own capital.
Hud. Nay, mend that, sir.
We're safe here from such ruck.
Meg. The startled eel
Will make for muddy waters,—and 'tis sure
LeVal found murky welcome here.
Hud. My city!
What mutinous bolt turns here for him?