And deeper drives the root.
Crat. Thy soul's too strong; thy body yet too weak,
To bear the crush. Be still, and wait thy doom.
[A cry within: Liberty, liberty! Magas, Magas!
To arms for Magas, and for liberty!
Cleon. What noble sound was that, so smart and vigorous,
A soul in every word?
Crat. Why, that was it,
I thought was doing; but I durst not tell,
Till now it shows itself.