_Panth._ Where I have past a merry morning's walk, With the best company.
_Panth._ Why with myself, in laughing at the world, Making a farce of life, where knaves, and fools, And madmen, that's all human kind, were actors.
_Panth._ As little as I could; and daily would have less, So please the gods, for that's a wise man's part.
_Cleom._ Would I could share thy balmy, even temper, And milkiness of blood.
_Panth._ By but forgetting you have been a king.
_Cleom._ Then must I rust in Egypt, never more Appear in arms, and be the chief of Greece? Now, by yon blue palace, The mansion of my great forefather, Hercules, I would lose o'er again Sellasia's field, Rather than fight behind, When proud Aratus led the Grecian van.
_Cleon._ What, when the lively trumpets sound a charge, The word of battle may be Hercules, And after our great grandsire's name, Aratus Cries,--Cleomenes, bring you up the rear.
_Panth._ If fortune takes not off this boy betimes, He'll make mad work, and elbow all his neighbours.
_Cleon._ My neighbours! Little: Elbow all the world, And push off kings, like counters, from the board, To place myself the foremost.
_Panth._ What wilt thou be, young cockeril, when thy spurs Are grown to sharpness?
_Cleon._ Why, I'll be a Spartan; For if I said a king, I should say less. I mean a Spartan while I live on earth; But when in heaven, I'll stand next Hercules, And thrust between my father and the god.
_Cleor._ Do you not view, my lord, As in a glass, your darling fault, ambition, Reflected in your son?
_Cleom._ My virtue rather: I love to see him sparkle out betimes, For 'twas my flame, that lighted up his soul: I'm pleased with my own work; Jove was not more With infant nature, when his spacious hand Had rounded this huge ball of earth and seas, To give it the first push, and see it roll Along the vast abyss.
_Cleon._ My mother would have had my youth brought up To spin with girls in Sparta.
_Crat._ Well said, my boy; yet Hercules, they say, Took up the distaff once.
_Cleon._ Yes, when he had been conquered by a woman.
_Panth._ [_To_ CLEOM.] One thing I have forgot, which may import you,-- You'll suddenly hear news from Greece.
_Cleom._ Thou wert Indeed forgetful, not to tell me that; For, from my first arrival on this coast, This fatal Egypt, where I fled for refuge, In three long months I have not heard from Greece. What makes thee think I shall have news so soon?