Tela. Will you have your Gown sir?
Leon. My Gown? why, am I sick? bring me my Sword. [Exit Tela.
[Timantus,] Let a couple of the great horses be brought out for us.
Tima. He'll kill himself. Why, will you ride Sir:
Leon. Ride? Dost thou think I cannot ride?
Timan. O yes Sir, I know it: but as I conceive your journey, you wou'd have it private; and then you were better take a Coach.
Leon. These Coaches make me sick: yet 'tis no matter, let it be so.
Enter Telamon with a sword.
Tel. Sir, here's your sword.