_Mar._ Guide her hither, And make her understand the slaves' revolt; And, with your utmost eloquence, enlarge Their insolence, and wrongs done in the city. Forget not, too, I am their chief, and tell her You strongly think my extreme dotage on her, As I'm Marullo, caused this sudden uproar, To gain possession of her. _Timand._ Punctually I will discharge my part. [_Exit._ _Enter_ POLIPHRON. _Poliph._ O, sir, I sought you: There's such variety of all disorders Among the slaves; answer'd with crying, howling, By the citizens and their wives; such a confusion, In a word, not to tire you, as I think The like was never read of. _Mar._ This is some Revenge for my disgrace. _Poliph._ But, sir, I fear, If your authority restrain them not, They'll fire the city, or kill one another, They are so apt to outrage; neither know I Whether you wish it, and came therefore to Acquaint you with so much. _Mar._ I will among them; But must not long be absent. _Poliph._ At your pleasure. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTE: [115] Mar. _Why, think you that I plot against myself?_] The plot opens here with wonderful address; and the succeeding conference, or rather scene, between Pisander and Cleora, is inimitably beautiful.--GIFFORD. SCENE II. _The same. A Room in the same._ _Shouts within. Enter_ CLEORA _and_ TIMANDRA. _Timand._ They are at our gates: my heart! affrights and horrors Increase each minute. No way left to save us, No flattering hope to comfort us, or means, But miracle, to redeem us from base wrongs And lawless rapine! Are there gods, yet suffer Such innocent sweetness to be made the spoil Of brutish violence? And, of these rebel slaves, He that should offer up his life to guard you, Marullo, cursed Marullo, your own bondman, Purchased to serve you, and fed by your favours-- Nay, start not: it is he; he, the grand captain Of these libidinous beasts, that have not left One cruel act undone that barbarous conquest Yet ever practised in a captive city; He, doting on your beauty, and to have fellows In his foul sin, hath raised these mutinous slaves. Wring not your hands, 'tis bootless; use the means That may preserve you. 'Tis no crime to break A vow when you are forced to it; show your face, And with the majesty of commanding beauty Strike dead his loose affections: if that fail, Give liberty to your tongue, and use entreaties: There cannot be a breast of flesh and blood, Or heart so made of flint, but must receive Impression from your words; or eyes so stern, But, from the clear reflection of your tears, Must melt, and bear them company. Will you not Do these good offices to yourself? poor I, then, Can only weep your fortune.--Here he comes. _Enter_ MARULLO, _speaking at the door_.