Pyrr. Athens is such a sun, and Sparta as my foot
Shall overcloud it! [Exit, middle left]
Bia. Had she crushed my gem
To bleeding dust, I'd pay it o'er to see
Such flame unsheathe. Bright Eos necklaced with
A darkling east could not more beauteously
Threat earth with storm. [Takes up the locket]
You'll wear it yet, my terror,
Or I'll cut out the tongue that can not wag
To a woman's heart.
[Enter Creon from street]
What, Creon? Dumb with news?
Which I will guess before your tongue's uncrimped.
We've lost our gentle guests? Our Spartan friends
Are off?
Cre. They're driven out. But that is old.
Atop that tale, like mountain on a hump,
Comes one will wake you, sir! The tumbling streams
That bore the Spartans out, rage back again,
A gathered flood against you,—you, my lord!
Bia. Ah!
Cre. Sinon's poison spreads till men
That yesterday lay down before you, now
Cry for your death. I warned you, friend!
Bia. You did.
Be happy then. Your duty's done.
Cre. Oh, sir,
Your house is sacked, and all your golden plate,
Parcelled on robber backs, is carried out
And spots the city with a hundred suns!
Bia. There's more i' the world. Let that not trouble you.
Cre. Your robes are in the street, and carters' wheels
Grow royal with them!
Bia. Well, there yet are looms.
While weavers know their art this is no loss.