Sure there is magic in it, Parthia's drunk

And giddy with the joy; the houses' tops

With gaping spectators are throng'd, nay wild

They climb such precipices that the eye

Is dazzl'd with their daring; ev'ry wretch

Who long has been immur'd, nor dar'd enjoy

The common benefits of sun and air,

Creeps from his lurking place; e'en feeble age,

Long to the sickly couch confin'd, stalks forth,

And with infectious breath assails the Gods.

O! curse the name, the idol of their joy.

Lysias.

Lysias.

And what's that name, that thus they should disturb

The ambient air, and weary gracious heav'n

With ceaseless bellowings? Vardanes sounds

With equal harmony, and suits as well

The loud repeated shouts of noisy joy.

Can he bid Chaos Nature's rule dissolve,

Can he deprive mankind of light and day,

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