Thanks to dissembling, all is well again.

King.

King.

Now let us forward, to the Temple go,

And let, with chearful wine, the goblets flow;

Let blink-ey'd Jollity his aid afford,

To crown our triumph, round the festive board:

But, let the wretch, whose soul can know a care,

Far from our joys, to some lone shade repair,

In secrecy, there let him e'er remain,

Brood o'er his gloom, and still increase his pain.

End of the First Act.

ACT II.

Scene I. A Prison.

Scene

Lysias [alone].

Lysias

The Sun set frowning, and refreshing Eve

Lost all its sweets, obscur'd in double gloom.

This night shall sleep be stranger to these eyes,

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