Methinks my soul is like a flame unfed
With oil, that dances up and down the lamp,
But must expire ere long.
Cleom. I pr'ythee try to hold it, while thou canst.
Cleon. I would obey you,
As I have always done, but I am faint;
And when you please to let me die, I'll thank you.
Cleom. Thou shall have food; I promise thee, thou shalt.
Cleon. Then you shall promise to have food for yourself too;
For, if you have it not, I would refuse to eat;