Sfe. At least, wear this.

Sar.‍Wear Caucasus! why, 'tis

A mountain on my temples.

Sfe.‍Sire, the meanest

Soldier goes not forth thus exposed to battle.140

All men will recognise you—for the storm

Has ceased, and the moon breaks forth in her brightness.

Sar. I go forth to be recognised, and thus

Shall be so sooner. Now—my spear! I'm armed.

[In going stops short, and turns to Sfero.