CYPRIAN. What's this?
Hold, good Florus! Lelius, listen!--
Here until your rage is calmed,
Even unarmed I stand betwixt ye.

LELIUS. Thus to interrupt my vengeance,
Whence, O Cyprian, have you risen
Like a spectre?

FLORUS. A wild wood-god,
Have you from these tree-trunks issued?



* * * * *


SCENE V.

Enter MOSCON and CLARIN.

MOSCON. Yonder, where we left our master,
I hear sword-strokes; run, run quickly.

CLARIN. Well, except to run away,
I am anything but nimble;--
Truly a retiring person.

MOSCON and CLARIN. Sir . . . .