ACT II.--SCENE I.

_Enter_ CLEOMENES, CLEANTHES, _and_ PANTHEUS.

_Cleom._ The king sent for me, say'st thou, and to council!

_Clean._ And I was coming to you, on that message, Just when I met Pantheus.

_Panth._ Good omen, sir, of some intended good. Your fortune mends; she reconciles apace, When Egypt makes the advances.

_Cleom._ Rise a prophet!-- For since his father's death, this Ptolemy Has minded me no more Than boys their last year's gewgaws. Petition on petition, prayer on prayer, For aid, or free dismission, all unanswered, As Cleomenes were not worth his thought; Or he, that god, which Epicurus dreamt, Disclaiming care, and lolling on a cloud.

_Panth._ At length, it seems, it pleases him to wake.

_Clean._ Yes, for himself, not you; he's drenched too deep, To wake on any call, but his own danger. My father, his wise pilot, has observed The face of heaven, and sees a gathering storm; I know not from what quarter; but it threatens, And, while it threats, he wants such hands as yours; But when 'tis o'er, the thoughtless king returns To native sloth, shifts sides, and slumbers on.

_Panth._ Sure, he'll remember to reward those hands, That helped him from the plunge.

_Clean._ You dream, Pantheus, Of former times, when gratitude was virtue. Reward him! Yes, like Æsop's snake the wretch, That warmed him in his bosom. We are tools, Vile abject things, created for his use, As beasts for men; as oxen, draw the yoke. And then are sacrificed.

_Cleom._ I would not use him so.

_Clean._ You are not Ptolemy; Nor is he Cleomenes.

_Cleom._ I'll press him home, To give me my dispatch; few ships will serve To bear my little band, and me, to Greece: I will not ask him one of his Egyptians; No, let him keep them all for slaves and stallions, Fit only to beget their successors.

_Clean._ Excepting one Egyptian,--that's myself.

_Cleom._ Thou need'st not be excepted; thou art only Misplanted in a base degenerate soil; But Nature, when she made thee, meant a Spartan.

_Panth._ Then if your father will but second us--

_Clean._ I dare not promise for him, but I'll try. He loves me: love and interest sometimes May make a statesman honest.

_Cleom._ For the king, I know he'll not refuse us, for he dares not; A coward is the kindest animal, 'Tis the most giving creature in a fright.

_Clean._ Say the most promising, and there you hit him.

_Cleom._ Well, I'll attack him on the shaking side, That next his fearful heart.

_Enter_ CŒNUS.

_Cœn._ I come to mind you of the late request, You would not hear. Be pleased to engage this lord, And then it may succeed.

_Cleom._ What wouldst thou, Cœnus?

_Cœn._ I brought along Some horses of the best Thessalian breed, High-spirited and strong, and made for war; These I would sell the king.

_Cleom._ Mistaken man! Thou shouldst have brought him whores and catamites; Such merchandise is fit for such a monarch.

_Clean._ Wouldst thou bring horses here, to shame our men? Those very words, of _spirited_ and _war_, Are treason in our clime.

_Cleom._ From the king downward, (if there be a downward, From Ptolemy to any of his slaves,) No true Egyptian ever knew in horses The far side from the near.

_Clean._ Cleomenes told thee true: Thou shouldst have brought A soft pad strumpet for our monarch's use; Though, thanked be hell, we want not one at home,-- Our master's mistress, she that governs all. 'Tis well, ye powers, ye made us but Egyptians: You could not have imposed On any other people such a load, As an effeminate tyrant and a woman.

_Cleom._ Sell me thy horses, and, at my return, When I have got from conquered Greece the pelf That noble Sparta scorns, I'll pay their value.

_Cœn._ Just as you paid me for the fair estate I sold you there. [_Aside._

_Cleom._ What's that you mutter?

_Cœn._ Nothing: That's what his hopes are worth-- [_Aside._ _Exit_ CŒNUS.

_Panth._ I fear he's gone away dissatisfied.

_Clean._ I'll make it up:--Those horses I present you; You'll put them to the use that nature meant them.

_Cleom._ I burden you too much.

_Clean._ If you refuse, you burden me much more. A trifle this: A singing eunuch's price, a pandar's fee, Exceeds this sum at court. The king expects us.

_Cleom._ Come after us, Pantheus, And bring my boy Cleonidas along. I'll shew his youth this base luxurious court, Just as in sober Sparta we expose Our drunken Helots; only with design To wean our children from the vice of wine. [_Exeunt._