Arc. But lose my Pyrrha?
Be driven out from her? See her no more?
Sac. There, friend, you stir me. Such a piece of man!
To strike like that because a woman's wit
Has clipped his own! He's not suspected you
In all these years?
Arc. Not once. I've watched myself
As I were my own jailer, fenced my heart,
And made my love a thief that gave my child
No open looks, but by her bed at night
Stole comfort as she slept.
Sac. Not I, Archippe!
I've laughed above the snores of Pelagon,
Knowing my darling near, whom he thought far
As Sparta. Come! You're taller by a head
Than I, yet die with quaking. And I thought
Each Lacedæmon wife a lioness.
Arc. Ah, but their lords are lions.
Sac. Well, they've mane
Enough, but they'd not shake it in my face.
Arc. Will you confess?
Sac. Why, no. For Pelagon
Would play the spousal saint, sit on the clouds,
And with a piety intolerable
Forgive his perjured wife. What soul could bear it?
But I'll not part with Phania, know you that!
Arc. What then?
Sac. We'll go to Philon. How to keep
Our secret and our daughters,—that's a nut
To break the oracle's teeth.