Soft, Mars, put on thy slippers!
[Enter soldiers dragging Heraclides]
Dion. Who is this?
First soldier. My lord, a prisoner.
Second sol. 'Tis Heraclides,
My lord.
Voices. Death! Death to Dion's enemy!
Dion. What? Heraclides?
Pan. Ay! [Drawing his sword] The blow is mine!