LYC. (_to_ PSYCHE). Ah! Madam!
PSY. What is the matter?
LYC. The king....
PSY. What?
LYC. Requests your presence.
PSY. What am I to augur from your agitation?
LYC. You will know it only too soon.
PSY. Alas! how you excite my fears about the king!
LYC. Fear only for yourself; you are the one to be pitied.
PSY. I can praise heaven, and be no longer anxious, when I know that I
am the only one in danger. But tell me, Lycas, what alarms you.
LYC. Suffer me, Madam, to obey him who sent me hither; and I beg of
you, learn from his lips what troubles me thus.
PSY. Let us go and hear what this is which makes them fear that my
courage will fail me.