Cleom. 'Twas sure his voice:— [Sees him on the ground.
Too sure!—Pity and rage
Distract my soul: But rage will first be served. [Runs at Cœnus, and kills him.
There's justice for myself, and for my son!—
Look up, sweet boy,
And tell me that thou livest.
Cleon. Fain I would live,
To comfort you! I bleed, and am ashamed
To say I faint, and call myself your son.—
O traitor Cœnus! What's become of him?