_Sar._ (_solus_). That man is of a temper too severe; Hard but as lofty as the rock, and free 520 From all the taints of common earth--while I Am softer clay, impregnated with flowers: But as our mould is, must the produce be. If I have erred this time, 'tis on the side Where Error sits most lightly on that sense, I know not what to call it; but it reckons With me ofttimes for pain, and sometimes pleasure; A spirit which seems placed about my heart To count its throbs, not quicken them, and ask Questions which mortal never dared to ask me, 530 Nor Baal, though an oracular deity--[q] Albeit his marble face majestical Frowns as the shadows of the evening dim His brows to changed expression, till at times I think the statue looks in act to speak. Away with these vain thoughts, I will be joyous-- And here comes Joy's true herald. _Enter_ MYRRHA. _Myr._ King! the sky Is overcast, and musters muttering thunder, In clouds that seem approaching fast, and show In forkéd flashes a commanding tempest.[r] 540 Will you then quit the palace? _Sar._ Tempest, say'st thou? _Myr._ Aye, my good lord. _Sar._ For my own part, I should be Not ill content to vary the smooth scene, And watch the warring elements; but this Would little suit the silken garments and Smooth faces of our festive friends. Say, Myrrha, Art thou of those who dread the roar of clouds? _Myr._ In my own country we respect their voices As auguries of Jove.[s] _Sar._ Jove!--aye, your Baal-- Ours also has a property in thunder, 550 And ever and anon some falling bolt Proves his divinity,--and yet sometimes Strikes his own altars. _Myr._ That were a dread omen. _Sar._ Yes--for the priests. Well, we will not go forth Beyond the palace walls to-night, but make Our feast within. _Myr._ Now, Jove be praised! that he Hath heard the prayer thou wouldst not hear. The Gods Are kinder to thee than thou to thyself, And flash this storm between thee and thy foes, To shield thee from them. _Sar._ Child, if there be peril, 560 Methinks it is the same within these walls As on the river's brink. _Myr._ Not so; these walls Are high and strong, and guarded. Treason has To penetrate through many a winding way, And massy portal; but in the pavilion There is no bulwark.