Excuse this haste,—'tis faith.
Sar.Speak on.
Pan.It is
As Salemenes feared; the faithless Satraps——
Sar. You are wounded—give some wine. Take breath, good Pania.
Pan. 'Tis nothing—a mere flesh wound. I am worn
More with my speed to warn my sovereign,
Than hurt in his defence.
Myr.Well, Sir, the rebels?
Pan. Soon as Arbaces and Beleses reached