ACT III. SCENE I.

_The same. A Gallery in_ ARCHIDAMUS'_s House_.

_Enter_ MARULLO _and_ TIMANDRA.

_Mar._ Why, think you that I plot against myself[115]? Fear nothing, you are safe: these thick-skinn'd slaves, I use as instruments to serve my ends, Pierce not my deep designs; nor shall they dare To lift an arm against you.

_Timand._ With your will. But turbulent spirits, raised beyond themselves With ease, are not so soon laid; they oft prove Dangerous to him that call'd them up.

_Mar._ 'Tis true, In what is rashly undertook. Long since I have consider'd seriously their natures, Proceeded with mature advice, and know I hold their will and faculties in more awe Than I can do my own. Now, for their licence, And riot in the city, I can make A just defence and use: it may appear, too, A politic prevention of such ills As might, with greater violence and danger, Hereafter be attempted; though some smart for 't, It matters not:--however, I'm resolved; And sleep you with security. Holds Cleora Constant to her rash vow?

_Timand._ Beyond belief; To me, that see her hourly, it seems a fable. By signs I guess at her commands, and serve them With silence; such her pleasure is, made known By holding her fair hand thus. She eats little, Sleeps less, as I imagine; once a day I lead her to this gallery, where she walks Some half a dozen turns, and, having offer'd To her absent saint a sacrifice of sighs, She points back to her prison.

_Mar._ Guide her hither, And make her understand the slaves' revolt; And, with your utmost eloquence, enlarge Their insolence, and wrongs done in the city. Forget not, too, I am their chief, and tell her You strongly think my extreme dotage on her, As I'm Marullo, caused this sudden uproar, To gain possession of her.

_Timand._ Punctually I will discharge my part. [_Exit._

_Enter_ POLIPHRON.

_Poliph._ O, sir, I sought you: There's such variety of all disorders Among the slaves; answer'd with crying, howling, By the citizens and their wives; such a confusion, In a word, not to tire you, as I think The like was never read of.

_Mar._ This is some Revenge for my disgrace.

_Poliph._ But, sir, I fear, If your authority restrain them not, They'll fire the city, or kill one another, They are so apt to outrage; neither know I Whether you wish it, and came therefore to Acquaint you with so much.

_Mar._ I will among them; But must not long be absent.

_Poliph._ At your pleasure. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTE:

[115] Mar. _Why, think you that I plot against myself?_] The plot opens here with wonderful address; and the succeeding conference, or rather scene, between Pisander and Cleora, is inimitably beautiful.--GIFFORD.