Crat. I told you so; you did not know your virtue.
Poor trembling thing, I'll warm thee in my bosom,
And make thee take death kindly.
[Another Shout within—Liberty and Magas!
Cleon. What must become of me?
Crat. More trouble yet about this paltry being?
For shame, no more such qualms!
Cleon. No more such vile mistakes! I would die warm,
And not in women's company, but men's.
Whether some god inspires me to this act,