_Mar._ O the gods! My ribs, though made of brass, cannot contain My heart, swollen big with rage. The lie!--a whip!-- Let fury then disperse these clouds, in which I long have march'd disguised; [_Throws off his disguise._] that, when they know Whom they have injured, they may faint with horror Of my revenge, which, wretched men! expect, As sure as fate, to suffer. _Leost._ Ha! Pisander! _Timag._ 'Tis the bold Theban! _Asot._ There's no hope for me then: I thought I should have put in for a share, And borne Cleora from them both; but now, This stranger looks so terrible, that I dare not So much as look on her. _Pisan._ Now as myself, Thy equal at thy best, Leosthenes. For you, Timagoras, praise heaven you were born Cleora's brother; 'tis your safest armour. But I lose time.--The base lie cast upon me, I thus return: Thou art a perjured man, False, and perfidious, and hast made a tender Of love and service to this lady, when Thy soul, if thou hast any, can bear witness, That thou wert not thine own: for proof of this, Look better on this virgin, and consider, This Persian shape laid by[131], and she appearing In a Greekish dress, such as when first you saw her, If she resemble not Pisander's sister, One call'd Statilia? _Leost._ 'Tis the same! My guilt So chokes my spirits, I cannot deny My falsehood, nor excuse it. _Pisan._ This is she, To whom thou wert contracted: this the lady, That, when thou wert my prisoner, fairly taken In the Spartan war, then, begg'd thy liberty, And with it gave herself to thee, ungrateful! _Statil._ No more, sir, I entreat you: I perceive True sorrow in his looks, and a consent To make me reparation in mine honour; And then I am most happy. _Pisan._ The wrong done her Drew me from Thebes, with a full intent to kill thee: But this fair object met me in my fury, And quite disarm'd me. Being denied to have her, By you, my lord Archidamus, and not able To live far from her; love, the mistress of All quaint devices, prompted me to treat With a friend of mine, who, as a pirate, sold me For a slave to you, my lord, and gave my sister, As a present, to Cleora. _Timol._ Strange meanders! _Pisan._ There how I bare myself, needs no relation: But, if so far descending from the height Of my then flourishing fortunes, to the lowest Condition of a man, to have means only To feed my eye with the sight of what I honour'd; The dangers too I underwent, the sufferings; The clearness of my interest, may deserve A noble recompense in your lawful favour; Now 'tis apparent that Leosthenes Can claim no interest in you, you may please To think upon my service. _Cleo._ Sir, my want Of power to satisfy so great a debt Makes me accuse my fortune; but if that, Out of the bounty of your mind, you think A free surrender of myself full payment, I gladly tender it.