Page 153 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4
P. 153
O, let those cities that of plenty’s cup
And her prosperities so largely taste
With their superfluous riots, hear these tears!
The misery of Tarsus may be theirs. [55]
Enter a Lord.
LORD
Where’s the lord governor?
CLEON
Here.
Speak out thy sorrows which thou bringest in haste,
For comfort is too far for us to expect.
LORD
We have descried, upon our neighbouring shore, [60]
A portly sail of ships make hitherward.
CLEON
I thought as much.
One sorrow never comes but brings an heir
That may succeed as his inheritor,
And so in ours. Some neighbouring nation, [65]
Taking advantage of our misery,
Hath stuffed the hollow vessels with their power,
To beat us down, the which are down already,
And make a conquest of unhappy me,
Whereas no glory’s got to overcome. [70]
LORD
That’s the least fear, for by the semblance
Of their white flags displayed they bring us peace,
And come to us as favourers, not as foes.
CLEON
Thou speakest like him’s untutored to repeat:
