[He goes away in the other direction.]
The curtain falls for a moment, and, when it rises again, discloses a wild and lonely region surrounded by forest and by lofty crags, at the foot of which lies a mean hut. A rustic enters.
RUSTIC. How fair the morning dawns! Oh, kindly gods,
After the storm and fury of the night,
Your sun doth rise more glorious than before!
[He goes into the hut.]
(JASON comes stumbling out of the forest and leaning heavily on his sword.)
JASON. Nay, I can go no farther! How my head
Doth burn and throb, the blood how boil within!
My tongue cleaves to the roof of my parched mouth!
Is none within there? Must I die of thirst,
And all alone?—Ha! Yon's the very hut
That gave me shelter when I came this way
Before, a rich man still, a happy father,
My bosom filled with newly-wakened hopes!
[He knocks at the door.]
'Tis but a drink I crave, and then a place
To lay me down and die!
[The peasant comes out of the house.]
RUSTIC. Who knocks?—Poor man,
Who art thou? Ah, poor soul, he's faint to death!