Cleom. Look, there he lies.
Cleon. I am glad on't:—
Forgive me, heaven: I hope 'tis no offence
To say I am glad, because he killed me basely.—
Still I grow fainter: Hold me, hold me, father.
Cleom. Chear up, and thou shalt live.
Cleon. No; I am just dying.
Cleom. What shall I lose?
Cleon. A boy; that's all. I might have lived to manhood;
But once I must have died.