The Python-slayer, smiles upon my deed.
QUINTIAN.
Hush! walls have ears.
Sce.When the gods favour a man,
They set his mind at ease: he disregards
Your fearful chances. Think you, Quintian,
’Tis the April air intoxicates me so,
And floats my head with birdlike confidence?
Is it the April morning air? Ah, no;
’Tis the air of the eve of liberty.—Is that