Farewell.
CINESIAS
Don't go, please don't go, Myrrhine.
At least you'll hear our child. Call your mother, lad.
CHILD
Mummy ... mummy ... mummy!
CINESIAS
There now, don't you feel pity for the child?
He's not been fed or washed now for six days.
MYRRHINE
I certainly pity him with so heartless a father.
CINESIAS