Or fate inevitably calls me on,
I will not, cannot stay:
But, as a generous, unfleshed hound, that hears
From far the hunters' horn and chearful cry,
So will I haste; and, by the music led,
Come up with death or honour. [Exit.
Cleor. Stop him, dear mother; he may comfort us,
But cannot help his father.
Crat. The hero's blood is not to be controuled;
Even in a child 'tis madly masterful.