He bated me the forms, and you the fondness.
Cleon. Pantheus, too, and he, who brought the food,
The brave Egyptian, vanished altogether.
Cleor. Oh, my foreboding soul! he's gone to death!
And that Cleanthes, whom thou call'st the brave,
Has basely trained him to his destruction!
Crat. Suspect him not; when fate was in his power,
And by a method so secure as famine,
To save us then, shows he had little need
To trick my son to death.