Cleomines.
The climate's delicate, the air most sweet,
Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing
The common praise it bears.

Dion.
I shall report,
For most it caught me, the celestial habits,
Methinks I so should term them, and the reverence
Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice;
How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly

It was i' th' offering!

Cleo.
But of all, the burst
And the ear-deafning voice o'th' oracle,
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense
That I was nothing.

Dio.
If th' event o' th' journey
Prove as successful to the Queen (O be't so)
As it hath been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy;
The time is worth the use on't.

Cleo.
Great Apollo,
Turn all to th' best! these proclamations,
So forcing faults upon Hermione,
I little like.

Dio.
The violent carriage of it
Will clear, or end the business, when the oracle,
Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,
Shall the contents discover: something rare
Even then will rush to knowledge. Go; fresh horses.
And gracious be the issue. [Exeunt.

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