But wait we patient with our petty stakes,
Which on those greater gamesters must depend;
For, as they throw, our little lots must follow,
Like sweepings of their heap.
[Crat. and Cleora go in. Trumpets; a Shout within—Liberty, Liberty, and Magas!
Enter Cleomenes, Cleanthes, Pantheus, followed by some few Egyptians.
Cleom. What, is this populous city turned a desert?
The cry of "Liberty" runs on before us,
And yet none appears!
By Hercules, we drive them through their town: