Phocion
Keep your words for later, boy; you waste your strength. How can you hold such idle thoughts? Hellas a Macedonian province! Her ancient liberties crushed! Our last hope dead as soon as born, and no blow struck!
Lysander
Phocion, forgive me! And, Selene, in yonder rising moon, forgive me too. The Gods protect and help us!
Phocion
Pallas Athena, give us wisdom to plan and strength to strike.
[Lydia comes forward from her hiding-place among the columns. The moonlight falls on her. As she moves she notices that it casts a shadow. She hurries. Lysander watches her somewhat closely.
Ah, Lydia.
Lydia