And slay him there.
Phem.Master, have pity on me:
I am but a minstrel, and have done no wrong.
Tel. Father, I plead for him: ’tis Phemius.
Spare him.
Ul.Well, be thou spared;—the only one—
And live to tell the tale. See, ’tis thy trade.
Go from the hall. [Exeunt Phemius and neatherd.
(To Tel.) Now all is ready, son:
Doth she not wake?