Ste. Keep her, dame.
But make this weakness not your heckling ground
Where you would spar for favors. No more suits!
Pel. And, Sachinessa, hear the same from me.
Sac. You borrow feathers and I'll twitch 'em out!
Ste. [To Archippe] Lest you should badger, footed safe on this,
Know that my judgment's not earwigged by you
To this repeal, but now configures pat
To the act itself, that keeps a constant step
With our first purpose. Our intent comes out
With even edges, though reversed in face.
An Athens' maid shall be a Spartan mother,
And here shall dwell a dame of Spartan blood.
Pel. You hear it, Sachinessa. I'm not one
To throw my pack away in sight of home.
Come mud, come mire, I bear my judgment out,
As Athens knows.
Sac. I'll swear to it there's no man
I' the city better hides the sun with a sieve!
Ste. And secondly, my dame, know that I've won
My high contention that the laws of Sparta
Are best for brooding earth a godlike race.
For here my proof enroots in warmest life
That they can aggrandize the chalky veins
Of pampered Attica to ducts that bear
The red, unconquered sap of Lacedæmon.
Sac. So Pyrrha is your proof!
Ste. No question there.
A weak, Athenian babe grows up the pride
Of Sparta, while a budling of her own,
Nursled by Athens' soft and careless shift,
Scarce grows to woman's level——
Sac. Why, you puffed——
You pride-blown——