Crat. Yet you chuse it,
To please our foes; that, when they view our skeletons,
And find them all alike, they may cry out,—
Look how these dull obedient Spartans died,
Just as we wished, as we prescribed their death,
And durst not take a nobler, nearer way!
Cleom. Not so; but that we durst not tempt the gods,
To break their images without their leave.
The moment ere Cassandra came, I had
A note without a name, the hand unknown,