III. 1.
150 What’s here?
‘Silvia, this night [I will] enfranchise thee.’
’Tis so; and here’s the ladder for the purpose.
Why, Phaethon,—for thou art Merops’ son,—
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly [car],
155 And with thy daring folly burn the world?
Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee?
Go, base intruder! overweening slave!
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates;
And think my patience, more than thy desert,