Makes better death than I, with all my skill!
Cyn. Hush, my Pygmalion! the gods are good,
And they have made thee nearer unto them
Than other men; this is ingratitude!
Pyg. Not so; has not a monarch’s second son
More cause for anger that he lacks a throne
Than he whose lot is cast in slavery?
Cyn. Not much more cause, perhaps, but more excuse.
Now I must go.
Pyg.So soon, and for so long!