Cleom. Haste, Pantheus!
I struggle like the priestess with a god;
With that oppressing god, that works her soul.
Haste to Cleanthes, my Egyptian friend,
That only man that Egypt ever made;
He's my Lucina. Say, my friendship wants him,
To help me bring to light a manly birth;
Which to the wondering world I shall disclose,
Or, if he fail me, perish in my throes. [Exeunt.