Speak out thy sorrows, which thee bring’st in haste

Cleon
Here.
Speak out thy sorrows, which thee bring’st in haste,
For comfort is too far for us to expect.
Lord
We have descried upon our neighboring shore
A portly sail of ships make hitherward.

Thou speak’st like him’s untutored to repeat
“Who makes the fairest show means most deceit.”

Cleon
I thought as much.
One sorrow never comes but brings an heir
That may succeed as his inheritor;
And so in ours. Some neighboring nation,
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 men,
Whereas no glory’s got to overcome.
Lord
That’s the least fear, for, by the semblance
Of their white flags displayed, they bring us peace
And come to us as favorers, not as foes.
Cleon
Thou speak’st like him’s untutored to repeat
“Who makes the fairest show means most deceit.”
But bring they what they will and what they can,
What need we fear?
The ground’s the lowest, and we are halfway there.
Go tell their general we attend him here,
To know for what he comes and whence he comes
And what he craves.
Lord
I go, my lord.
 He exits.