_Leost._ Friend, to you I leave the disposition of what's mine: I cannot think I am safe without your sister, She is only worth my thought; and, till I see What she has suffer'd, I am on the rack, And Furies my tormentors. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [121] _As_ is, in this passage, an ellipsis of _that_, as usual. Some of the incidents mentioned in this speech, Massinger derived from Plutarch--GIFFORD. [122] Mar. _A general pardon_, &c.] It is evident, from the unreasonable nature of these demands, that Pisander does not wish them to be accepted. The last article, indeed, has a reference to himself, but he seems desirous of previously trying the fortune of arms. See, however, the next scene, and his defence in the last act.--GIFFORD. [123] Herodotus relates this tale, and Justin repeats it. Massinger may have taken it from Purchas's Pilgrims, a book that formed the delight of our ancestors; and in which it is said, that the Boiards of Noviorogod reduced their slaves, who had seized the town, by the whip, just as the Scythians are said to have done theirs. SCENE III. _Syracuse. A Room in_ ARCHIDAMUS'_s House_. _Enter_ MARULLO _and_ TIMANDRA. _Mar._ I know I am pursued; nor would I fly, Although the ports were open, and a convoy Ready to bring me off: the baseness of These villains, from the pride of all my hopes, Hath thrown me to the bottomless abyss Of horror and despair: had they stood firm, I could have bought Cleora's free consent With the safety of her father's life, and brother's; And forced Leosthenes to quit his claim, And kneel a suitor for me. _Timand._ You must not think What might have been, but what must now be practised, And suddenly resolve. _Mar._ All my poor fortunes Are at the stake, and I must run the hazard. Unseen, convey me to Cleora's chamber; For in her sight, if it were possible, I would be apprehended: do not inquire The reason why, but help me. [_Knocking within._ _Timand._ Make haste,--one knocks. [_Exit_ MARULLO. Jove turn all to the best! _Enter_ LEOSTHENES. You are welcome, sir. _Leost._ Thou giv'st it in a heavy tone. _Timand._ Alas! sir, We have so long fed on the bread of sorrow, Drinking the bitter water of afflictions, Made loathsome too by our continued fears, Comfort 's a stranger to us. _Leost._ Fears! your sufferings:--[124] For which I am so overgone with grief, I dare not ask, without compassionate tears, The villain's name that robb'd thee of thy honour: For being train'd up in chastity's cold school, And taught by such a mistress as Cleora, 'Twere impious in me to think Timandra Fell with her own consent. _Timand._ How mean you, fell, sir? I understand you not.