Timag. Which never shall deceive you.
Enter Marullo.
Mar. Sir, the general,
Timoleon, by his trumpets hath given warning
For a remove.
Timag. 'Tis well; provide my horse.
Mar. I shall, sir. [Exit.
Leost. This slave has a strange aspect.
Timag. Fit for his fortune; 'tis a strong-limb'd knave:
My father bought him for my sister's litter.
O pride of women! Coaches are too common—
They surfeit in the happiness of peace,
And ladies think they keep not state enough,
If, for their pomp and ease[96], they are not borne
In triumph on men's shoulders.
Leost. Who commands
The Carthaginian fleet?
Timag. Gisco's their admiral,
And 'tis our happiness; a raw young fellow,
One never train'd in arms, but rather fashion'd
To tilt with ladies' lips, than crack a lance;
Ravish a feather from a mistress' fan[97],
And wear it as a favour. A steel helmet,
Made horrid with a glorious plume, will crack
His woman's neck.
Leost. No more of him.—The motives,
That Corinth gives us aid?