 | Jason |  |
SCENE VIII.
Orontesand the Enchantress.
How shall I hail thee! That I now restore
Wrong'd Pherendates, and espouse his daughter,
Do not impute to coward fear, nor hold me
Less than becomes a king.
ENCHANTRESS.
I hold thee greater,
Girt by a council now which gods revere,
By equity, beneficence, and wisdom.
And now convinc'd, thy danger from the lion,
Thy doleful bower, the sternness of Melampus,
My wrath and indignation, wilt thou bless.
Adversity's deep-searching hand was wanting
To weed thy bosom, force its worth to ripeness,
And thy imperial state with virtue crown,
Which shall exalt thee far beyond thy titles.
| Jason | |