Second Senator. 'Tis not our way to judge
The dumb.
Third Ephor. [Very old, creakingly]
Why, if a lion, boar, or pard,
Or any beast, should pause as we did burn
In chase, and beg us hear his cause, I think
Our ears would ope.
Ste. Ay, and the earth too, sir,
Bearing such wonder on it! Folly's self
Would be too wise to listen to this man,
Yet ye would hear him!
Fourth Ephor. More than would. We will.
Bia. This clemency shows like yourselves,—the gem
Of mind's adornment, as ye are the lustre
Of Sparta's matchless race!
Ste. Now he is off.
Will gallop with us to what ditch he choose.
First Senator. Speak, Biades.
Bia. Of Agis then, my lords,—
This newly raw offence,—be my first word.
And I'll not stay for garnish. Truth is bare,
And bravest so. Though 'twas my Helot guise
Drew Agis' insult on me, think you, sirs,
It fell upon a proud and free-born Greek,
And who is here that could with putting on
A slave's vile dress put on his nature too,
Drain off his ancient, high nobility,
And in one brutish instant lose the blood
That made his fathers heroes? Is there one?
First Ephor. We grant you, none.
Bia. Your hearts then struck my blow,
Therefore must pardon it. If Agis' death
Falls from it, 'tis but accident that sleeps
In every motion, and in mine awoke
Untimely. Who, so shorn of wisdom, thinks
That I, a suitor here for barest life,
Meant him a vital stroke that would o'ercry
My prayers and make a mock of suppliance?
I'll mourn with you, my lords, but ask you wring
The neck of Fate, and leave my head where 'tis
To praise the just of Sparta.