Pha. [Quiveringly] Have I displeased you, sir?
Ste. Displeased me? No.
You make contentment creep on honored bones
Far back as Lacedæmon's earliest grave
That opened for my house. You turn my blood
That's not yet earthed, and hot as Sparta's pride,
To drops that mutiny 'gainst their own succession
And beg to be the end. Displeased? Oh, no!
[Retires, rear]
Pha. Oh, sir——
[Fails, and goes off weeping, lower right. Enter, upper right, Biades and Creon]
Cre. But this confusion, many-throated,
Has single voice and warns articulate.
A treasonous tempest rises, and you stand
A god indifferent when you should bethink
Yourself most mortal. Vilest mouths puff bold
In Sinon's service. You must wax your way
To th' Council——
Bia. Nay, no bending there!
Cre. But——
Bia. Peace!
Here's Stesilaus! He's most heavy shipped.
What is aboard? And now comes Pelagon,
With 's threshing-tongue a-ready. Chaff will fly.
[Enter Pelagon, upper left]
Pel. What thinkst of Phania? Is she not a chick?