Bia. My lords,——
Ste. Prove this?
Bia. Why made you Stesilaus head and tongue
Of envoy unto Athens? For you thought
His mind, most apt, fluidic, politic,
More quick than danger, would take shape of need,
Repairing your defense fast as you found
Your safety cramped. If I o'ercame him then
With wit that watched with sleepless spear at door
Of Athens' housèd trust, must you not crown in me
The quality held sovereign in him?
Ste. You hear, you elders,—must!
Bia. Ay, must,—and must!
Or at the fontal spring of justice break
Your cups and thirst. No alien dripple may
Content you then.
First Senator. We listen, Biades.
Bia. When swords of an uneven temper meet,
Who scorns the better proved? Nay, you do set
Your love upon it,—in your armory
Give it a burnished place. And I who crossed
With Stesilaus, for my triumph ask
To be of Sparta's armor.
Ste. Our dead shall answer!
Bia. They shall. For every heart my steel made cold,
Is proof how well I served my Athens,—proof
Of loyal heat with which I'll serve the State
That makes me hers! A true-bred Greek, outthrust
And homeless, seeks a foster-land, that he
May lift for her his sword, nor wasteful let
The chiefest virtue in him die unused
While his lost name no more climbs to the gods.
Second Senator. Would you ally with us 'gainst Attica?