ACT III

SCENE: _The assembly ground of the Spartans. Maidens discovered. A dance is ending._

_Nac._ We limped through that. Apollo! Are there thorns I' the grass? We'll better it. Come!

_Dia._ No time. I hear The senators.

_Nac._ They wait beyond the bridge For old Aristogeiton. Come, my maids! You, Dianessa need to school your toes. 'Twas you played wild-foot--twice!

_Art._ Save her a slip When Agis' eye is on her!

_Nac._ Faith, she'd be No bride this year!

_Dia._ What ache for that? His love Is slight if 't hangs upon my toes.

_Nac._ My troth! Less might catch more!

_Dia._ You, Nacia, are not so lithe As a ferret in a hoop. An Athens maid Might labor so in all her skirts.

_Nac._ Ho, ho! A little puff blow such a fire? The coals Were hot then!

_Myr._ Nay, my girls, we'll douse you both I' the river yonder if you flame at naught. How, Dianessa, dance the maids of Athens? But surely not in skirts!

_Dia._ My father saw them, And so he said.

_Myr._ Why dance at all then? Grace That cadent girdles the invisible waves Of flute and harp is born of faining limbs, And hide them who may see it?

_The._ No doubt they bob Like bears in blankets, and believe they dance.

_Nac._ Pyrrha could say. But since she came from Athens Who hears her speak?

_Art._ She keeps from all our games, And scorns the wrestle, though our noblest youths Have sent her challenge.

_The._ Ay! Lets Dianessa wear The vestal bays, nor cares if Hieron Be there to see.

_Myr._ Come, Pyrrha, tell us how The Athenian maidens dance with shrouded feet.

_Pyrr._ They wear their robes as Morning does the mist That makes her beauty greater and her dream Live on in men.

_Dia._ Ah, maidens, here's a tale For the other ear.

_Pyrr._ The bare and brazen sun That's up without a cloud, cheers to the hunt, The fight, the bruited path,--makes careful dames Send linen to the ford, and say "Zeus grant, We'll air the beds!"

_Nac._ Ay, wives must know their season.

_Pyrr._ But let night-swimming Morn come up In foamy veil, and her priest-hearted rose Stays lusty feet and gives adventure's hour To the achieving soul.

_Art._ What kin is this To th' matter?

_Pyrr._ Why, Artante, when we dance Half naked as we do before the youths, They say of us "A bed-mate there, and strong To bear and breed brave warriors for my house." But they in Athens who so watch the dance, See sheatheless Being shine through form that would, Not softened thus, first fill the ruder eye And leave unseen the token of a grace Earth may not shadow.

_Dia._ Nay, you speak Athenian! Let's have it in our tongue.

_Nac._ What grace can be So badgered in a gown?

_Pyrr._ Ask flying doves, That rhythm the air till it doth ache with loss When they have passed. So have these maidens taught The silken fold to be their wingèd part.

_Myr._ Ask her no more. Alack, our Pyrrha drank Of charmed Ilissus,--must go back to Athens!

_Nac._ But come! Our dance! We yet are Spartan maids.

_Dia._ [_Taking wreath from her hair_] Our flowers are far from morning. See, these buds Are pale as they had never known the dew. But I know where some fleecy clusters blow And daintily edge the stream. Like tiny birds, Green-necked and lily-winged, they are alight A hundred to a stem. I'll have a wreath Of them.

_Myr._ And I. These sad things are less bright Than locks they should adorn.

_Art._ New garlands, all! Where grow these favors? Dianessa, lead!

[_They go off, rear left. Pyrrha waits a meditative moment, then turns to follow. A bough brushes her cheek. She puts up her hand and plucks a bunch of berries from it_]

_Pyrr._ 'Tis like his ruby. Nature loved them both With the same kiss,--the berry and the stone. [_Fastens cluster to her bosom_] "Heaven should have its sun." This sun will fade, But that I threw away had ne'er lost hue So near my heart, giving and taking fire. [_Something thrown from the bushes falls at her feet. She gazes at it, not taking it up_] Ah! Biades' jewel! Who.... [_Looks about guardedly_]

[_Biades comes from the woods. He is dressed as a Helot in a scant tunic of goat-skin, and wears a large cap_]

_Pyrr._ Whose slave are you, Bold Helot?

_Bia._ [_Kneeling_] Thine! [_Takes off cap, revealing his quantity of dark curls_]

_Pyrr._ Are you in love with death, That you have come to Sparta?

_Bia._ Nay, I come A banished man.

_Pyrr._ I've heard how you were plucked.

_Bia._ No feather left.

_Pyrr._ Life, sir, is yours, and you Cast it away in Lacedæmon.

_Bia._ Nay,--

_Pyrr._ You whose dark outrage made her honor bleed, Think on her burning wound to set the foot Of impudence and live?

_Bia._ I know the Spartans. They will exalt my courage above death.

_Pyrr._ Courage that reckons so bates its own worth Till a coward might disport it. You will meet Death's mercy but no other.

_Bia._ No, the virtue Dearest in them they'll hold dear in myself. But if not so,--blow out your candle, Fate, I'll go to bed.

_Pyrr._ Why not have fled to Persia? She's softer mannered,--has no aching pride Your death would poultice.

_Bia._ Pyrrha lives in Sparta. Howe'er I set my feet, love turned them here. Which way I bent some tingèd thought of thee Crept as a secret sun to every sense And made the hidden threads of being blush Like coral boughs when Aphrodite's foot Is on the wave.

_Pyrr._ Athenian, what canst hope From Stesilaus' daughter?

_Bia._ I ask naught. But had a gem of hers that hourly cried To clasp its mistress, and to bring it thus, With Death a looker-on, I thought might make The peasant service shine so sovranly That even her royal and offended eyes Might gently entertain it.

_Pyrr._ Deck the bark Of yon shag ilex and 'twill wear your trinket With the same grace and thanks.

_Bia._ Thy grace is hers Who walked unrobed from hands of the high gods Grown jealous of the beauty they had made. Not this, nor any jewel may adorn it, Though swartest pebbles might grow ruby proud, And rubies throb with breath to be so worn. And for thy thanks, I have not come this way To ask for them. Keep them for one so poor He lets his heart for hire. [_Puts locket slowly under his tunic_] And yet my ears Fed on a sigh when I was hidden there.

_Pyrr._ Who is so strong as never to have sighed? That secret moment was my weakest too. I'm now a Spartan, and my father's name Is Stesilaus. You may know it, sir, Who wert of Athens, but whose country now Is so much ground as you may beg of foes, And that, Zeus help, they'll measure without grudge. You're not so tall your grave would scant a field, Or make a garden less.

[_Sounds of approach across bridge, lower right_]

_Bia._ Does Fate come noisy-footed? I thought she crept, and loved the jungle-leap.

_Pyrr._ Hide, sir! I'll be as secret as these shrubs, And not reveal you sooner. With the night You may steal out of Sparta.

_Bia._ I'll go out winged With Spartan ships, and honor as a bride Shall sail with me!

_Pyrr._ Are you so mad? Then die!

[_Enter ephors and senators, all old men, followed by warriors, then youths, wives, maidens, children, and attendant slaves. Biades draws his cap down and lies slouching on the grass. The ephors and senators take seats which the Helots have prepared for them_]

_First Ephor._ What! Must we wait? Where are these merry slips?

_First Senator._ The woods are dancing yonder. By that sign They come.

[_Re-enter Dianessa, Myrta, and companions, who dance before the assembly, the figure symbolizing the capture of Persephone. They continue dancing, the youths joining, until every maid has won a partner._]

_Ste._ [_To Archippe_] Our Pyrrha does not dance. Why's that?

_Arc._ No why at all. I'll rate her. Sulky chuff!

_Ste._ Ay, you'll be on her heels!

_Arc._ The younger maids Are chosen. She'll be left. There's Hieron With eyes like begging moons which way she goes, But she draws off,--

_Ste._ Well, well! She'll please herself.

_Arc._ In Phania, I'd have had a daughter now----

_Ste._ What, madam? Gabble here? Be done!

_Agis._ [_Among the young men_] I thirst. [_To Biades_] Up, slave! Fill me a cup. Come, move, you drone!

[_Biades slowly rises and goes to spring under trees, rear_]

_A Young Lord._ What Helot's that?

_Another._ Some dog o' the farms. A staff On 's back might help his legs.

_Another._ I'll put mine to 't.

[_Biades lazily returns with cup. In handing it to Agis he spills part of the contents_]

_Agis._ [_Emptying the cup in Biades' face_] By Dis and Rhadamanthus! Sot! Whose man Is this?

_Bia._ My own, you Spartan whelp!

[_Gives Agis a blow, so unexpected that it knocks him down. His head strikes the root of a tree and he does not rise. A number of Spartans rush upon Biades. Others bear Agis off, left_]

_Voices._ The dog! Tread him to earth! Down! down!

_Bia._ [_Springing from them and taking off his cap_] What, Greeks? You'd kill A brother?

_A Voice._ Biades!

_Bia._ My friends----

_Voices._ Ha, ha! His friends!

_Lys._ What friending was 't you gave us on the day You drove us out of Athens? Hoot and club Then spoke how dear you loved us. We had not Brought off our lives if your desire had dared Blow full on Athens' heat.

_Gir._ Brought off our lives? Where's Heracordus? Stoned at Athens' gate, And dead upon the road.

_Bia._ Nay, brothers----

_Gir._ Ha! If you're a brother, weep beside his grave. I'll show it you.

_Lys._ And all the graves where lie The dead we brought two bleeding years ago From Decalea's wall, where you gave entry Then broke the truce with charge!

_Bia._ But hear, my lords----

_Gir._ Come, wail beside them till they wake and ask What new calamity brews in your tears!

[_Enter Lenon_]

_Len._ Agis yet swoons. That root was edged with death. We fear he's gone.

_Gir._ For this alone, Athenian, You should not live,--though all your else-wrought deeds Were mercy's pawn for you.

_Bia._ Ye fathers, hear! If ye know Justice,--and the world has said Her lovers dwell in Sparta,--shall he cry To scorn-shut ears, whose injuries taking voice Should pass in thunder where your virtues sleep? Hear one whose wrongs have bruised him to your coast, And let it not be said that you from safe Unshaken rocks met suppliant hands with spears!

_Ste._ Ye noble elders, there's a sort of mercy On which dishonor feeds. As pasty, soft As butter in the sun, it chokes the sluice Of reason,--in marshy obliteration lays The marks and bounds of justice,--nauseous spreads Till mind is left no throne. Let it not come Where sit the guards of honor!

_Bia._ I grant you so. But what I ask is not thus natured, sir! Sages of Lacedæmon, there's a mercy That veins the very rock of Justice' seat. It is the agent of divinest mould In all the world. By it the mind grows fair With blossoms deity may gather. 'Tis As precious to the soul as south-lipped winds To the winter-aching earth. Go bare of it, Though ye know Virtue ye wear not her pearl. I beg my life that you in saving me May save the heavenliest favor given to men, Nor crush it out of Sparta, leaving her The scarred and barren terror gods forsake.

_Second Ephor._ Shall hear his plea? He may have argument Of worthy note.

_Second Senator._ 'Tis not our way to judge The dumb.

_Third Ephor._ [_Very old, creakingly_] Why, if a lion, boar, or pard, Or any beast, should pause as we did burn In chase, and beg us hear his cause, I think Our ears would ope.

_Ste._ Ay, and the earth too, sir, Bearing such wonder on it! Folly's self Would be too wise to listen to this man, Yet ye would hear him!

_Fourth Ephor._ More than would. We will.

_Bia._ This clemency shows like yourselves,--the gem Of mind's adornment, as ye are the lustre Of Sparta's matchless race!

_Ste._ Now he is off. Will gallop with us to what ditch he choose.

_First Senator._ Speak, Biades.

_Bia._ Of Agis then, my lords,-- This newly raw offence,--be my first word. And I'll not stay for garnish. Truth is bare, And bravest so. Though 'twas my Helot guise Drew Agis' insult on me, think you, sirs, It fell upon a proud and free-born Greek, And who is here that could with putting on A slave's vile dress put on his nature too, Drain off his ancient, high nobility, And in one brutish instant lose the blood That made his fathers heroes? Is there one?

_First Ephor._ We grant you, none.

_Bia._ Your hearts then struck my blow, Therefore must pardon it. If Agis' death Falls from it, 'tis but accident that sleeps In every motion, and in mine awoke Untimely. Who, so shorn of wisdom, thinks That I, a suitor here for barest life, Meant him a vital stroke that would o'ercry My prayers and make a mock of suppliance? I'll mourn with you, my lords, but ask you wring The neck of Fate, and leave my head where 'tis To praise the just of Sparta.

_Third Senator._ So we might But for the heavier charges that engage The sighs of mercy 'gainst you ere they blow This deed a pardon. What of Decalea?

_Bia._ That was a ruse the Spartans taught me, sir, When at Eleusis they ensnared my troops Within the gates, and naught passed out again Save rivers of their blood. If I must die For Decalea, die you with me, men, For red Eleusis.

_Fourth Senator._ This is justice too. I saw Eleusis. He is clear on that.

_Ste._ I warn you, senators! The fleetest wit That pauses on his guile is honey-mired And ne'er gets farther.

_First Ephor._ We'll not keep his road An inch past justice, but we'll go so far.

_Ste._ So you resolve, but Hecate at his smile Would plod beside him like a market lass, Forgetting vengeance.

_Bia._ Honored Stesilaus:----

_Ste._ Honored? Ay, Biades! With gibe and jeer That shook the walls of Athens! By my staff, I'll----

_Bia._ Noble fathers, hear me for yourselves, Who, loved of Pallas, in this council sit Her earthly heirs and nature's demigods! This rage of Stesilaus is itself Sanction and seal for my adoption here, A son of Sparta.

_Ste._ Ha! Now he would drive The mares of Diomed!

_Bia._ My lords,----

_Ste._ Prove this?

_Bia._ Why made you Stesilaus head and tongue Of envoy unto Athens? For you thought His mind, most apt, fluidic, politic, More quick than danger, would take shape of need, Repairing your defense fast as you found Your safety cramped. If I o'ercame him then With wit that watched with sleepless spear at door Of Athens' housèd trust, must you not crown in me The quality held sovereign in him?

_Ste._ You hear, you elders,--must!

_Bia._ Ay, must,--and must! Or at the fontal spring of justice break Your cups and thirst. No alien dripple may Content you then.

_First Senator._ We listen, Biades.

_Bia._ When swords of an uneven temper meet, Who scorns the better proved? Nay, you do set Your love upon it,--in your armory Give it a burnished place. And I who crossed With Stesilaus, for my triumph ask To be of Sparta's armor.

_Ste._ Our dead shall answer!

_Bia._ They shall. For every heart my steel made cold, Is proof how well I served my Athens,--proof Of loyal heat with which I'll serve the State That makes me hers! A true-bred Greek, outthrust And homeless, seeks a foster-land, that he May lift for her his sword, nor wasteful let The chiefest virtue in him die unused While his lost name no more climbs to the gods.

_Second Senator._ Would you ally with us 'gainst Attica?

_Bia._ I'm yours for that. By th' mother of the sea, Her tears shall wash your feet!

_Third Senator._ What way wouldst take?

_Bia._ The way to Phernes and the Persian fleet Now boastful before Rhodes. Grant me a convoy, I'll forge with Persia Lacedæmon's sword, And cut the crest from Athens.

_Fourth Senator._ We have failed With Phernes.

_Bia._ You'll not fail again. He's sworn My friend.

_First Senator._ Our ships are few.

_Bia._ But Corinth holds Her sea-wings spread for any need of yours.

_Ste._ Hear me, ye warriors! He will lead Our force afar, then stir up neighbor foes To scourge unarmored Sparta! Think that one, Cradled in silk and fed on nectared drops----

_Bia._ There, sir, I'm bold to say you're off the road Of truth. My nurse was of your people, brought From sterner Sparta for my orphan rearing, By my good uncle Pelagon,--a man Ye know your friend. From her wise hands I took Your doughty-nurturing bread, and broth black-brewed, That drives the shade of fear from veins of men.

_Ste._ I've bread now in my wallet. Let us see Your teeth in 't.

[_Takes out a piece of coarse, stale bread and offers it to Biades_]

_Bia._ Pardon, sir! I do not hunger. A Helot shared with me.

_Ste._ 'Twill keep till you Would sup. But, you must try our broth, sir. Pulse Is seething yonder. Youths, bring here a bowl. We have a guest who'd call his childhood up In good black brew. Hark, Lenon!

[_Whispers to Lenon, who goes off left_]

_Third Ephor._ It is truth. Amycla was your nurse. I know the year That she was sent to Athens.

_Bia._ On her lap I learned a love for Sparta that returned In warrior days to blunt my assaulting sword And wound me from your side. She taught me too The lyric wafture that dead hero-lips Send on undying,--songs your young men sing, And old men flush to hear,--and as a youth I longed to make my civil Athens street Echo to Sparta with a brother's call.

_Third Ephor._ But I am moved.

_Fourth Ephor._ And I.

_Ste._ Art grown so old You'll feed on pap again? Come, Biades, A song Amycla taught you! One will prove Your love remembers Sparta.

_Bia._ Sir, I'm not Your zany.

_Ste._ But you'd make my country one, To antic for you.

[_Re-enter Lenon with bowl of broth_]

_Ste._ Here's your portion, sir. Amycla made no better. Will you drink?

[_Gives bowl to Biades, who regards the black mixture dubiously. All are silent, watching him. He looks at Pyrrha_]

_Bia._ [_To Pyrrha_] Is 't poison?

_Pyrr._ [_Stolid_] It may be.

_Bia._ [_To Senators_] Your will's in this?

_First Senator._ It is.

_Bia._ If this be pledge that binds me yours, Fellow of board and field, I drink long life To our compact. But if death waits here,--to you, O comrade shades, and our good fellowship! [_Drinks. The Spartans applaud_]

_Ste._ You lean to him, and Sparta topples with you!

_A Young Man._ [_Entering_] Agis is up! He comes! And bears no grudge For a good Greek blow. Says you could give no less.

[_Enter Agis_]

_Bia._ High Zeus, I thank thee! Agis, thou dost live To take my pardon and to give me thine! [_They take hands_]

_Ste._ So soft?

_Lys._ Better than blows.

_Ste._ Ha! Like disease He'll spread the woman till our eyes drop tears Instead of fire. When Spartan eagles moult, They'll go no farther than Athenian owls.

_Lys._ He's valiant.

_Ste._ There's no braver tongue.

_Lys._ And friend To Phernes.

_Ste._ So he says.

_Lys._ Nay, that's well known.

_Ste._ My captain comrades, and ye aged fathers, If ye had seen him strut, a vanity As brainless as the monkey at his heels, With woman velvets making slut of wealth Trailing foul dust,--a peacock fan at 's cheek Where a soldier's beard should grow, and bangled ears Whose swinging jewels tickled a white neck Soft as a harlot's pillow,--this at time His city laid such honor on his head As would have kept a brave man on his knees For wisdom to uphold it,--had ye looked on this, Ye'd call the weakest maiden from her wheel To lead our wars ere trust to Biades!

_First Ephor._ A picture this,--shakes faith.

_Second Ephor._ We trust too far.

_Ste._ Sirs, had ye seen what I but paint----

_Bia._ My lords, I'll wrestle with the stoutest Spartan youth That makes your wars most dreaded, and these limbs, Now shrunk with fasting, wasted and forsook By Fortune that once fed them as her own, Will prove my right to captain Sparta's host!

_Ste._ Our women could undo you, girl of Athens! Meet his bold brag with this. One of our maids Shall throw him! Ay! Then he'll betake his shame To any shade will hide it.

_Hie._ Sir, I sue To lay this boast.

_Agis._ My prayer be first, my lords!

_Voices._ A lot! A lot!

_Ste._ Nay, sons, a fall from you Would give him hope to pick his honor up And steal again to favor. He will plead That you, full-fed, met him in famished hour, When Fate hung him with bruises leeching strength, And gave you victory. Let my offer hold. A maiden to him, and we'll hear no more Of valorous Biades.

_First Ephor._ We are agreed.

_Second Ephor._ Who is our strongest maid?

_Lys._ We've six whose claims Push equal. All in public game have won The bow of Artemis.

_First Ephor._ We'll choose from these.

_Bia._ Olympus, shower me woes! I will not cringe, So they be man's. But save me from a mock That makes misfortune past seem sweet as drops From Hera's healing cup!

_Dia._ A mock? The gods Have never honored you till now.

_Myr._ See these, My bantling? Arms that made Kalides wear A three months' bruise!

_The._ And these have locked the strength Of Lenon in defeat!

_Dia._ Ask Mirador If he liked well the sandy bed I gave him.

_Nac._ Bethink you now how you'll outcrow disgrace, For you'll be short of breath when you've gone through The brash I'll give you.

_Dia._ Then he'll show his reefed And wattled skin, and say that want of bread O'ercame him, not our valor.

_Art._ Look you, maids! His hollow eyes do beg some pity of us. We'll give him yet a chance, and mate him with Our lame Coraina. She's near well again. Will drop her crutch to be our champion.

_Bia._ Zeus, Behold me patient! Furies, though I lack Some vaunting flesh, the sharpest ill that on My body ravins feeds a spirit that Might meet with Heracles and give him need Of both his arms!

_Dia._ Ha! Better! Maids, his tongue Will fight yet!

_Ste._ Peace! The ephors choose That Dianessa bear this honor off. She threw strong Mirador, first of the youths, Which puts her o'er the rest.

_First Ephor._ We've else determined That with the fall the Athenian forfeits life.

_Bia._ And if I win, my lords? Since life must pay Defeat, should victory not solicit me With counterpoisèd prize?

_First Ephor._ We shall accept you Leader and comrade, and give escort fair To bear your suit to Phernes.

_Lys._ More! The maid Shall be your bride, and bind you son and brother To Sparta's love.

_Second Ephor._ You, Stesilaus, assent?

_Ste._ Since without risk you may pursue your folly, I'll not oppose you.

_First Ephor._ Dianessa, you Abide our will?

_Dia._ And welcome it. 'Twill work Like Mars in me, and make my arm The gallows of his fame. The Athenian lady! I'd choose a husband among men.

_Bia._ And I, My generous, dear lords, would woo and win Some mute and humble maid. I would not force The noble Dianessa bend her head To one unworthied by a hostile Fate.

_First Ephor._ Tut, sir! If Fortune's love returns with heat That makes you conqueror, by that same sun Her pride will melt, and you will find her meek As gosling in your hand.

_Second Ephor._ 'Tis settled so. Wear what you win.

_Pyrr._ [_Rising_] Ye reverend men, and you, My noble father, may my suit reveal My love to Sparta and your love to me, Which has not spoken in this act of yours That overpeers me and gives up my due To Dianessa.

_First Ephor._ Ha?

_Pyrr._ Though Mirador Was forced below her, never in a bout Has she ta'en honors from me, while I oft Have left her down.

_Second Ephor._ Speak'st truly?

_Pyrr._ Hear herself Avouch it.

_Dia._ Ay, you overmate me, but The gap between us will not cast the match To Biades. And I was chosen.

_Fourth Ephor._ Nay, You must give place.

_Pyrr._ I've other reason, sir. It is my dear, war-honored father lays This match on Sparta, and my pride of house Would bear his counsel through the act that sets The sage's seal upon it.

_First Ephor._ A daughter, sir!

_Ste._ Bare duty might so speak.

_Pyrr._ This gives me warmth My maiden comrades lack. By every vein My father gave me, his time-laurelled brow Shall never wear a garland less!

_Second Ephor._ Well sworn!

_Pyrr._ And for I saw----

_Third Ephor._ More reasons?

_Pyrr._ --the rude shame The Athenian put upon the ambassadors, And mine own eyes bore him in lowest semblance, Demeaned from manhood, his dishonor wrapped In purple cost that left it yet more naked. I swear he shall not honored lead our wars! If our gray heroes fail us, we have dames To choose from,--need not go to Athens!

_First Ephor._ This speaks! The victory's won where courage makes Such stout provision.

_Pyrr._ If I fail, my lords, Then gods are mongers and their favors sell, Denying honest prayers.

_Lys._ Come, Biades. Art ready?

_Bia._ Ay, long past!

_First Ephor._ Your places then.

_Ste._ Delay you! Biades, with modesty Unlooked for, but most fit, you gave up claim To Dianessa.----

_Bia._ Nay, 'twas but an offer Whose bounty met refusal.

_Ste._ I'll accept it In Pyrrha's name.

_Bia._ So prudent against loss? This caution, sir, gives me a victor's heart.

_Ste._ Triumph is hers a certain thousand times, And yours a dicer's once, slipped you between Hiccough and snore of gods at shutting time. But since that once will have a thousandth chance To trouble me, I'll grant you free of Pyrrha.

_Bia._ Wait till 'tis begged. Lysander spoke with kind And equal honor, which did soften me To leave his daughter his. And others here Have tendered me the gentle looks that breed The answering benison till hearts of earth Feel heaven's element. But you, whose hate Should hiss from crawling shape, not upright man's, Wake fires in me that eat through godly patience And sweep to battle. I'll endure no further. Back with your taunts! And if 'twill make you sore Where pride is daintiest, I'll your daughter wed Because she is your daughter!

_Ste._ Bark, you puppy, But you'll not carry it!

_Bia._ Were she featured foul As snaked Medusa,--her brow a hanging night,-- Her figure hooped as age when chin and toes Are neighbors,--and of speech so scaly, harsh As Stesilaus,--I, with no more color Or shade of reason than that you deny me, Would make her bride. The ephors gave their word, And what I win I'll wear!

_First Ephor._ We'll see you do. Content you, Stesilaus. None will weep To know your bluff soul matched. To place! To place!

[_They wrestle. Pyrrha loses. Silence, then applause for Biades_]

_A Lord._ My heart upheld him, for I know him brave.

_Another._ I saw his dripping sword on Theban plain Cut through the knotted fray and make two fields O' the combat.

_Another._ He can pray too, Delphi knows!

_Another._ But when his gallant prayers their action find The gods themselves rage in them.

_First Ephor._ [_To Pyrrha_] Daughter, take Fair thanks from us for brave support of Sparta, And having lost, more thanks for giving her Another soldier. Has defeat made soft Your heart for swift espousal?

_Bia._ Let me woo In slower way, good father. Tho' my boast Rose high 'gainst Stesilaus' scorn, I'm not Of heart so rash that I would lose her love By taking it. With Sparta's aid now mine, I'll ask her choose a noble guard and sail With me, that I, by time and fortune graced, May win a double suit, herself and Persia.

_First Ephor._ We'll think of it. Our plans are still unthreshed. Come with us, Biades.

[_Ephors, with senators and Biades, lead the way over bridge. All follow except Stesilaus and Pyrrha_]

_Ste._ How was 't he won? And he was livid famine! Scurfed with weeks Of beggary! While you--such arms had saved Antiope from Theseus! [_Pyrrha droops silent_] Up, my daughter! We'll make this fall our hope. You shall take sail With Biades----

_Pyrr._ Gods hear me, no!

_Ste._ You will. I know his aim. He will betray our force To Athens,--pardon's price. Athenian ease Is in his marrow like a siren sleep, And all this hardy show is but to buy His languors back. You'll watch within his ship, With Hieron a second secret eye, And when his treachery ripens, take command And bring him bound to Sparta.

_Pyrr._ Be so near? Sail in his ship?

_Ste._ Be near him as a wife. Watch close. Lie in his thoughts, though not his bed. And if he presses to the shrine of favor, Here is my dagger. This will be your guard. Let him meet death upon it,--and that death Be honor's sanctuary. Come! My brow Must smooth submissive to the senators. Clear too your face with summer policy. Thus openly we'll hide. The State's turned fool, And naught between her and perdition save An old man and a girl! [_Exit_]

_Pyrr._ [_Gazing at dagger_] If this cold blade Were seeking traitors 't might look in my heart.

[_Curtain_]