Into the meagre family of famine!
The house of hunger! therefore asked I not;
So am I pleased to have her company,
And so displeased to have it but in death.
Cleor. I know not how, or why, my surly gaoler,
Hard as his irons, and insolent as power
When put in vulgar hands, Cleanthes gone,
Put off the brute; and with a gloomy smile,
That showed a sullen lothness to be kind,
Screened me within this veil, then led me forth;