To bring this joyful news.
Cleom. Look there, and, if thou darest, now give me joy.
Panth. Enough: you've stopped my mouth.—What? Cœnus killed?
I ask no questions then of who killed who;
The bodies tell their story as they lie.
Haste, and revenge!
Cleom. Where are our enemies?
Panth. Sculking, dispersed in garrets, and in cellars.
Enter Cleanthes.
Cleom. Not worth the seeking. Are these fit to atone