Follow me, follow—402
—We come, we come.[Exeunt Chor.
Ach. I wish I had had Apollo for my sire;
Or that old Cheiron, when he taught me arms,
Hunting the beasts on bushy Pelion,
Had led and trained me rather, as well he knew,
In that fair park of fancy and delight,
Where but the Graces and the Muses come.
For he could sing: and oft took down at eve
From the high pillar of his rocky cave