_Timag._ Why should you droop, Leosthenes, or despair My sister's favour? What, before, you purchased By courtship and fair language, in these wars (For from her soul you know she loves a soldier) You may deserve by action. _Leost._ Good Timagoras, When I have said my friend, think all is spoken That may assure me yours; and pray you believe, The dreadful voice of war that shakes the city, The thundering threats of Carthage, nor their army Raised to make good those threats, affright not me.-- If fair Cleora were confirm'd his prize That has the strongest arm and sharpest sword, I'd court Bellona in her horrid trim, As if she were a mistress; and bless fortune, That offers my young valour to the proof, How much I dare do for your sister's love. But, when that I consider how averse Your noble father, great Archidamus, Is, and hath ever been, to my desires, Reason may warrant me to doubt and fear, What seeds soever I sow in these wars Of noble courage, his determinate will May blast, and give my harvest to another, That never toil'd for it. _Timag._ Prithee, do not nourish These jealous thoughts; I am thine, (and pardon me, Though I repeat it,) thy Timagoras, That, for thy sake, when the bold Theban sued, Far-famed Pisander, for my sister's love, Sent him disgraced and discontented home. I wrought my father then; and I, that stopp'd not In the career of my affection to thee, When that renowned worthy, that brought with him High birth, wealth, courage, as feed advocates To mediate for him; never will consent A fool, that only has the shape of man, Asotus, though he be rich Cleon's heir, Shall bear her from thee. _Leost._ In that trust I love. _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?