Cleom. But not before thy father.
Cleon. Nay, then you envy me, that I'm first happy.
I go; and, when you come, pray find me out,
And own me for your son! [Dies.
Cleom. There went his soul!—Fate, thou hast done thy worst,
And all thou canst henceforth is but mean slaughter,
The gleanings of this harvest.
Enter Pantheus.
Panth. Sir, you're well found. Our enemies are fled:
I left our men pursuing, and made haste