Pen. The god of sleep visit thee soon. Farewell.
Ul. Lady, good-night.
[Exit Penelope. The firelight is failing.
Now could I weep, and from the springs of pity
Forgive some wrong. Yet in the goddess’ hest,
Away my softness! Surely in these things
Is her hand seen. My bow! ay, from that bow
The arrows were not wont to fly in vain.
But now to find my son, my trust in him
Hath grown with this day’s doings.