Into our City with thy Banners fpred, 1 Sen. All have not offended: For those that were, it is not square to take, 2 Sen. What thou wilt, Thou rather fhalt enforce it with thy Smile, 1 Sen. Set but thy Foot Against our rampir'd Gates, and they fhall ope: 2 Sen. Throw thy Glove, Or any token of thine Honour elfe, That thou wilt ufe the Wars as thy Redress, Alc. Then there's my Glove, Defcend, and open your uncharged Ports, Both. 'Tis moft nobly spoken. Alc. Defcend, and keep your Words. Enter Enter a Messenger. Mef. My noble General, Timon is dead, [Alcibiades reads the Epitaph.] Here lyes a wretched Coarse, of wretched Soul bereft, These well express in thee thy latter Spirits: Hereafter more. Bring me into your City, And I will use the Olive with my Sword; Make War breed Peace; make Peace ftint War, make each Prescribe to other, as each other's Leach. |