_Sosib._ The gods reward thy pious care. [CLEANTHES _leads off his Father; while_ PANTHEUS _follows_ CLEOMENES: _The Egyptians are driven to the bottom of the Stage: They make a wheeling Fight; still retiring before_ _the Spartans:_ CLEOMENES _advances eagerly after the Egyptians, and, with_ PANTHEUS, _drives them off_: CLEONIDAS _is left behind: So is_ CŒNUS, _who had skulked_. _Cœnus._ This was well watched: The boy is left unguarded. [_Thrusts at_ CLEON. _behind_. _Cleon._ Oh! I am slain by treason! Revenge me, royal father. _Re-enter_ CLEOMENES. _Cleom._ 'Twas sure his voice:-- [_Sees him on the ground._ Too sure!--Pity and rage Distract my soul: But rage will first be served. [_Runs at_ CŒNUS, _and kills him_. There's justice for myself, and for my son!-- Look up, sweet boy, And tell me that thou livest. _Cleon._ Fain I would live, To comfort you! I bleed, and am ashamed To say I faint, and call myself your son.-- O traitor Cœnus! What's become of him? _Cleom._ Look, there he lies. _Cleon._ I am glad on't:-- Forgive me, heaven: I hope 'tis no offence To say I am glad, because he killed me basely.-- Still I grow fainter: Hold me, hold me, father. _Cleom._ Chear up, and thou shalt live. _Cleon._ No; I am just dying. _Cleom._ What shall I lose? _Cleon._ A boy; that's all. I might have lived to manhood; But once I must have died. _Cleom._ But not before thy father. _Cleon._ Nay, then you envy me, that I'm first happy. I go; and, when you come, pray find me out, And own me for your son! [_Dies._ _Cleom._ There went his soul!--Fate, thou hast done thy worst, And all thou canst henceforth is but mean slaughter, The gleanings of this harvest. _Enter_ PANTHEUS. _Panth._ Sir, you're well found. Our enemies are fled: I left our men pursuing, and made haste To bring this joyful news. _Cleom._ Look there, and, if thou darest, now give me joy. _Panth._ Enough: you've stopped my mouth.--What? Cœnus killed? I ask no questions then of who killed who; The bodies tell their story as they lie. Haste, and revenge! _Cleom._ Where are our enemies? _Panth._ Sculking, dispersed in garrets, and in cellars. _Enter_ CLEANTHES. _Cleom._ Not worth the seeking. Are these fit to atone For Cleomenes' mother, son, and wife? But what the gods have left us, we must take. _Clean._ 'Tis all in vain: we have no further work. The people will not be dragged out to freedom; They bar their doors against it. Nay, the prisoners Even guard their chains, as their inheritance, And man their very dungeons for their masters, Lest godlike liberty, the common foe, Should enter in, and they be judged hereafter Accomplices of freedom.