Cas. Now you speak too soon; forbear!
Nothing can please me, that begins with her.
Cleom. I must begin, where nature, void of art,
Directs my tongue,—with her, who rules my heart.
Cas. Let us together sail before the wind,
And leave that dull domestic drudge behind.
Cleom. What! to expose her helpless innocence
To the wild fury of an injured prince?
}
{ Cas. A vain surmise; their talents would agree.