An Ancient Woman has descended the hill path during Strephon’s lament, and has heard most of it.  She is like the He-Ancient, equally bald, and equally without sexual charm, but intensely interesting and rather terrifying.  Her sex is discoverable only by her voice, as her breasts are manly, and her figure otherwise not very different.  She wears no clothes, but has draped herself rather perfunctorily with a ceremonial robe, and carries two implements like long slender saws.  She comes to the altar between the two young men.

THE SHE-ANCIENT [to Strephon] Infant:  you are only at the beginning of it all. [To Acis] Is the child ready to be born?

ACIS.  More than ready, Ancient.  Shouting and kicking and cursing.  We have called to her to be quiet and wait until you come; but of course she only half understands, and is very impatient.

THE SHE-ANCIENT.  Very well.  Bring her out into the sun.

ACIS [going quickly into the temple] All ready.  Come along.

Joyous processional music strikes up in the temple.

THE SHE-ANCIENT [going close to Strephon].  Look at me.

STREPHON [sulkily keeping his face averted] Thank you; but I don’t want to be cured.  I had rather be miserable in my own way than callous in yours.

THE SHE-ANCIENT.  You like being miserable?  You will soon grow out of that. [She returns to the altar].

The procession, headed by Acis, emerges from the temple.  Six youths carry on their shoulders a burden covered with a gorgeous but light pall.  Before them certain official maidens carry a new tunic, ewers of water, silver dishes pierced with holes, cloths, and immense sponges.  The rest carry wands with ribbons, and strew flowers.  The burden is deposited on the altar, and the pall removed.  It is a huge egg.

THE SHE-ANCIENT [freeing her arms from her robe, and placing her saws on the altar ready to her hand in a businesslike manner] A girl, I think you said?

ACIS.  Yes.

THE TUNIC BEARER.  It is a shame.  Why cant we have more boys?

SEVERAL YOUTHS [protesting] Not at all.  More girls.  We want new girls.

A GIRL’S VOICE FROM THE EGG.  Let me out.  Let me out.  I want to be born. 
I want to be born. [The egg rocks].

ACIS [snatching a wand from one of the others and whacking the egg with it] Be quiet, I tell you.  Wait.  You will be born presently.

THE EGG.  No, no:  at once, at once.  I want to be born:  I want to be born. [Violent kicking within the egg, which rocks so hard that it has to be held on the altar by the bearers].

THE SHE-ANCIENT.  Silence. [The music stops; and the egg behaves itself].

The She-Ancient takes her two saws, and with a couple of strokes rips the egg open.  The Newly Born, a pretty girl who would have been guessed as seventeen in our day, sits up in the broken shell, exquisitely fresh and rosy, but with filaments of spare albumen clinging to her here and there.