}
{ Tempests and whirlwinds through my bosom move,
{ Heave up, and madly mount my soul above
{ The reach of pity, or the bounds of love.—
Approach, and seize the traitor.
Enter Guards.
Cleom. Now I can speak: thy kindness kept me dumb,
For that I could not answer. The false Syren,
No longer hiding her uncomely parts,
Struts on the waves, and shews the brute below.