Lys. The last hour of the sun.
Pel. The crier stood
Wrong side of my good ear, and I'll not twist
To set the gossips nudging me to th' grave,
Robbed in a shrug of twenty grizzled years. [Looks about the garden]
Where's Biades? He's always trailing here,
Save in the tick of need. I'd have him bid
The ambassadors lie at my house. Lysander,
You'll be my suitor to your comrades? Say
We've heart and room for all.
Lys. For all, my lord?
Pel. And more!
[Exit Lysander]
Ste. My Sparta thanks you, Pelagon.
Pel. Nay, such an honor shall not pass me, sir.
Now where is Biades?
Ste. Your nephew, friend?
Pel. Ay, Stesilaus. Bar my blood in him,
He'll fasten on your heart.
Ste. Report has been
Too dear his friend. What buzz about a youth
Of twenty-five! Sir, Attica is mad
To give him captainship. In Sparta now,
The spurring callant would be kept in ranks,
And yoked with Prudence till he learned her jog.