THE CHORUS.
So dies the last shoot of our royal tree!
Who shall tell Merope this heavy news?
POLYPHONTES.
Stranger, this news thou bringest is too great
For instant comment, having many sides
Of import, and in silence best received,
Whether it turn at last to joy or woe.
But thou, the zealous bearer, hast no part
In what it hath of painful, whether now,
First heard, or in its future issue shown.
Thou for thy labor hast deserved our best
Refreshment, needed by thee, as I judge,
With mountain-travel and night-watching spent.—
To the guest-chamber lead him, some one! give
All entertainment which a traveller needs,
And such as fits a royal house to show;
To friends, still more, and laborers in our cause.
[Attendants conduct Æpytus within the palace.
THE CHORUS.
The youth is gone within; alas! he bears
A presence sad for some one through those doors.
POLYPHONTES.
Admire then, maidens, how in one short hour
The schemes, pursued in vain for twenty years,
Are—by a stroke, though undesired, complete—
Crown'd with success, not in my way, but Heaven's!
This at a moment, too, when I had urged
