Ste. My captain comrades, and ye aged fathers,
If ye had seen him strut, a vanity
As brainless as the monkey at his heels,
With woman velvets making slut of wealth
Trailing foul dust,—a peacock fan at 's cheek
Where a soldier's beard should grow, and bangled ears
Whose swinging jewels tickled a white neck
Soft as a harlot's pillow,—this at time
His city laid such honor on his head
As would have kept a brave man on his knees
For wisdom to uphold it,—had ye looked on this,
Ye'd call the weakest maiden from her wheel
To lead our wars ere trust to Biades!
First Ephor. A picture this,—shakes faith.
Second Ephor. We trust too far.
Ste. Sirs, had ye seen what I but paint——
Bia. My lords,
I'll wrestle with the stoutest Spartan youth
That makes your wars most dreaded, and these limbs,
Now shrunk with fasting, wasted and forsook
By Fortune that once fed them as her own,
Will prove my right to captain Sparta's host!
Ste. Our women could undo you, girl of Athens!
Meet his bold brag with this. One of our maids
Shall throw him! Ay! Then he'll betake his shame
To any shade will hide it.
Hie. Sir, I sue
To lay this boast.
Agis. My prayer be first, my lords!
Voices. A lot! A lot!
Ste. Nay, sons, a fall from you
Would give him hope to pick his honor up
And steal again to favor. He will plead
That you, full-fed, met him in famished hour,
When Fate hung him with bruises leeching strength,
And gave you victory. Let my offer hold.
A maiden to him, and we'll hear no more
Of valorous Biades.