I have no heart to do it. (_To Phoebe_). Look for me! [_Crouches_. PHOEBE _looks out_. [_Shouts_, 'Synorix! Synorix!' PHOEBE. He climbs the throne. Hot blood, ambition, pride So bloat and redden his face--O would it were His third last apoplexy! O bestial! O how unlike our goodly Sinnatus. CAMMA (_on the ground_). You wrong him surely; far as the face goes A goodlier-looking man than Sinnatus. PHOEBE (_aside_). How dare she say it? I could hate her for it But that she is distracted. [_A flourish of trumpets_. CAMMA. Is he crown'd? PHOEBE. Ay, there they crown him. [_Crowd without shout_, 'Synorix! Synorix!' [_A Priestess brings a box of spices to_ CAMMA, _who throws them on the altar-flame_. CAMMA. Rouse the dead altar-flame, fling in the spices, Nard, Cinnamon, amomum, benzoin. Let all the air reel into a mist of odour, As in the midmost heart of Paradise. Lay down the Lydian carpets for the king. The king should pace on purple to his bride, And music there to greet my lord the king. [_Music_. (_To Phoebe_). Dost thou remember when I wedded Sinnatus? Ay, thou wast there--whether from maiden fears Or reverential love for him I loved, Or some strange second-sight, the marriage cup Wherefrom we make libation to the Goddess So shook within my hand, that the red wine Ran down the marble and lookt like blood, like blood. PHOEBE. I do remember your first-marriage fears. CAMMA. I have no fears at this my second marriage. See here--I stretch my hand out--hold it there. How steady it is! PHOEBE. Steady enough to stab him! CAMMA. O hush! O peace! This violence ill becomes The silence of our Temple. Gentleness, Low words best chime with this solemnity. _Enter a procession of Priestesses and Children bearing garlands and golden goblets, and strewing flowers_. _Enter_ SYNORIX (_as King, with gold laurel-wreath crown and purple robes), followed by_ ANTONIUS, PUBLIUS, _Noblemen, Guards, and the Populace_. CAMMA. Hail, King! SYNORIX. Hail, Queen! The wheel of Fate has roll'd me to the top. I would that happiness were gold, that I Might cast my largess of it to the crowd! I would that every man made feast to-day Beneath the shadow of our pines and planes! For all my truer life begins to-day. The past is like a travell'd land now sunk Below the horizon--like a barren shore That grew salt weeds, but now all drown'd in love And glittering at full tide--the bounteous bays And havens filling with a blissful sea. Nor speak I now too mightily, being King And happy! happiest, Lady, in my power To make you happy. CAMMA. Yes, sir. SYNORIX. Our Antonius, Our faithful friend of Rome, tho' Rome may set A free foot where she will, yet of his courtesy Entreats he may be present at our marriage.