O Gyges!—Come, since thus your hand’s refused me—
(And without that your cheek tells tale enough).
You’re hot with fever; but the goodliest leech
Stands at the door. Why is it barred and bolted
When such a morn as all the trooping hours
Lade with their sweets, beggar-like knocks outside?
Quick, fling it back, and on the act you’re healed!
[Kandaules is about to open it.
Rhod.
Halt! Ope more readily a charnel-vault!