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ACT II.
An old grove, in the midst, the old oracular oak by it self, its boughs decorated with votive wreaths. Enter Sileno alone, a garland in his hand. He seems struck with religious horror at the gloomy solitude. During the symphony he advances timor|ously, and hangs his garland on a branch:
RECIT. accompanied.
Sil.
Hail, mystic oak!—zooks what a taking
Am I now in!—oh, how I shiver!
I'm in an ague—ha! the very shaking
Of the leaves, throws me all over int'a quaking,—
My wife! I'll ne'er forgive her—
I'm wet as in a river—
Ah! ha! there—what was't gave me a twitch?
It must have been a witch,
Or something diabolic.
Oh, 'tis a foolish frolic.
(Thunder and lightning—Sileno retires trembling to a corner of the stage, and there falls on his knees with hands uplifted.)