Pel. Why, why, why!
Ste. Where is your buttery nephew, Biades?
Who slips to the seat of question and melts all
Into one potch of folly!
Pel. But I'd know——
Ste. Why I am here, not there? A crater mouth
That calls itself a people hissed eruption
Into my face, and without bow I set
My back to 't, sir!
Pel. Blame me for all! I knew
I should not stay behind! The gods do know
I am the voice of Athens. 'Tis no pride
That speaks bare truth. I'll go——
Ste. Tuh, tuh!
A word with Biades——
Pel. But not too sharp,
My friend. He is of weight——
Ste. No sharper than
My stick! Then I set out for Sparta, where
The very ground knows Stesilaus walks!
Pel. And Phania goes with you?
Ste. Not if the chit
May corner in your kitchen! She's worth that.