(Act I, Scene I. The Temple of Isis)
Enter SERAPION, MYRIS, PRIESTS OF ISIS.
SERAPION. Portents and Prodigies are grown so frequent
That they have lost their Name. Our fruitfull Nile
Flow’d ere the wonted season, with a Torrent
That, the wild Deluge overtook the haste,
Ev’n of the Hinds that watch’d it: Men and Beasts
Were borne above the tops of Trees, that grew
On th’ utmost margin of the Water-mark.
Then, with so swift an Ebb, the Floud drove backward
It slipt from underneath the Scaly Herd:
Here monstrous Phocae panted on the Shore;
Forsaken Dolphins there, with their broad Tails
Lay lashing the departing Waves: Hard by ’em,
Sea-Horses floundring in the slimy Mud,
Toss’d up their heads, and dash’d the ooze about ’em.
MYRIS. Avert these Omens, Heav’n.
SERAPION. Last night, between the hours of Twelve
and One,
On a lone Isle o’ th’ Temple, while I walk’d,
A whirlwind rose, that with a violent blast
Shook all the Dome: the Doors around me clapt,
The Iron Wicket that defends the Vault
Where the long Race of Ptolmies is lay’d
Burst open, and disclos’d the mighty Dead.
From out each Monument, in order plac’d,
An armed Ghost, start up: the Boy-King last
Rear’d his inglorious head: a peal of groans
Cry’d Egypt is no more….