Cleon. Where are you, wife? I fain would go abroad,
But cannot find my slaves that bear my litter;
I am tired. Your shoulder, son;—nay, sweet, thy hand too:
A turn or two in the garden, and then to supper,
And so to bed.
Asot. Never to rise, I hope, more. [Aside.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
A Grove near the Walls of Syracuse.
Enter Marullo and Poliphron. A Table set out with Wine, &c.
Mar. 'Twill take, I warrant thee.
Poliph. You may do your pleasure;
But, in my judgment, better to make use of
The present opportunity.
Mar. No more.
Poliph. I am silenced.
Mar. More wine; prithee drink hard, friend,
And when we're hot, whatever I propound,