[_She turns round to them, and observes what they are doing._ CLEOM. _turns and meets her_; CLEON. _looks still on the picture_. _Cleon._ I durst not have presumed to interrupt Your private thoughts. _Cas._ They wholly were employed in serving you. But _durst not_, and _presume_, are words of fear; I thought they were not in your Spartan tongue; For my sake banish them. On what were you so earnestly employed, You would not look this way? _Cleom._ A picture, madam. _Cas._ View it again, 'tis worth a second sight; Your son observes it still.--'Twere well to help My lover's understanding. [_Goes with him to the Picture_. Know you this piece, young prince? _Cleon._ Some battle, I believe; and in that thought, I gaze with such delight. _Cleom._ Some rape, I guess. _Cas._ That's near the true design, and yet mistaken; 'Tis Paris, bearing from your Spartan shore The beauteous Helen. How do you approve it? _Cleom._ Not in the least, for 'tis a scurvy piece. _Cas._ And yet 'tis known to be Apelles' hand. The style is his; you grant he was a master. _Cleom._ 'Tis scurvy still, because it represents A base dishonest act; to violate All hospitable rites, to force away His benefactor's wife:--Ungrateful villain! And so the gods, the avenging gods have judged. _Cleon._ Was he a Spartan king that suffered this? Sure he revenged the rape. _Cleom._ He did, my boy, And slew the ravisher. _Cas._ Look better, sir; you'll find it was no rape. Mark well that Helen in her lover's arms: Can you not see, she but affects to strive? She heaves not up her hands to heaven for help, But hugs the kind companion of her flight. See how her tender fingers strain his sides! 'Tis an embrace; a grasping of desire; A very belt of love, that girds his waist. She looks as if she did not fear to fall, But only lose her lover, if she fell. Observe her eyes; how slow they seem to roll Their wishing looks, and languish on his face! Observe the whole design, and you would swear, She ravished Paris, and not Paris her. _Cleom._ Sparta has not to boast of such a woman; Nor Troy to thank her, for her ill-placed love. _Cas._ But Paris had. As for the war that followed, 'Twas but a fable of a Grecian wit, To raise the valour of his countrymen: For Menelaus was an honest wretch; A tame good man, that never durst resent; A mere convenient husband, dull and slavish, By nature meant the thing, the lovers made him. _Cleom._ His goodness aggravates their crime the more. Had Menelaus used his Helen ill, Had he been jealous, or distrusted both, I would allow a grain or two for love, And plead in their excuse.