Cas. Stop that foul mouth! Behold this royal signet,
The warrant of his death. [Guards go to seize him.
Cleom. Stand back, ye slaves, [He draws his Sword.
And put me not to stain a Spartan sword
With base Egyptian blood. [He advances upon them; they retire, with signs of fear.
Cas. Fall on!—Behold a noble beast at bay,
And the vile huntsmen shrink!—More aid: Who waits?—
Enter Cleanthes.
Now, sir, what brings you here?
Clean. My zeal to serve you.