[Exeunt, upper left. Pyrrha and Biades enter, lower right]
Bia. But one word!
Pyrr. I've let you shower words in hope to drain
Your breath of them, but they grow to a hail.
Pelt me no more, Athenian.
Bia. O, that name
I held my pearl of honor is become
A wounding thorn! I'll wear 't no more.
Pyrr. You'll be
A Spartan?
Bia. Ay, if you are one!
Pyrr. So vows
An Athens' captain.
Bia. Nay, I have no place,
No rank, no office, duty or pursuit,
But this my gage is in. Nor rest till I have won!
Pyrr. Then you'll die weary, sir. So long 'twill take
To make me yours.
Bia. If you will love my shade
I'll on the instant make myself a ghost!