Syb. Here's a guest!
Pha. And when I said
I lived on them——
Bia. My dainty!
Pha. —then she asked
If that made me so little!
Bia. Ay, they feed
To grow in Sparta. Breed but monsters there.
No arts, no grace, no soft and tendrilled speech
That creeps to ends of being and looks back
Exultant and afraid. They are not men,
But, wearing human port, would force on us
A beastly comradeship. Set me to woo
A toad bred in a ditch of Attica,
But not a maid of Sparta! Were she fair
As was Persephone when she drew the god
From nether earth, yet sprung from that hard soil,
I'd let her beauty pass.
Syb. Hist, Biades!
She's yonder.
[They look middle left, where Pyrrha appears]
Pha. I like the garden best when 't wears
Pale Cybele's gown. Apollo makes it harsh
In black and gold—Ah, Pyrrha! You have found
Our blossomy corner. Welcome to it, and know
My neighbor, Sybaris,—and Biades.
Pyrr. I greet you, friends of Athens.
Pha. Will you sit?