Clo. Never mind. It will be another’s work now.
Me. Stay! One request I can make with a clear conscience.
Clo. Well?
Me. Suffer me only to complete the conquest of Persia; … and to impose tribute on Lydia; … and erect a colossal monument to myself, … and inscribe thereon the military achievements of my life. Then let me die.
Clo. Creature, this is no single day’s reprieve: you would want something like twenty years.
Me. Oh, but I am quite prepared to give security for my expeditious return. Nay, I could provide a substitute, if preferred—my well-beloved!
Clo. Wretch! How often have you prayed that he might survive you!
Me. That was a long time ago. Now,—I see a better use for him.
Clo. But he is due to be here, shortly, let me tell you. He is to be put to death by the new sovereign.
Me. Well, Clotho, I hope you will not refuse my last request.