First Ephor. We are agreed.
Second Ephor. Who is our strongest maid?
Lys. We've six whose claims
Push equal. All in public game have won
The bow of Artemis.
First Ephor. We'll choose from these.
Bia. Olympus, shower me woes! I will not cringe,
So they be man's. But save me from a mock
That makes misfortune past seem sweet as drops
From Hera's healing cup!
Dia. A mock? The gods
Have never honored you till now.
Myr. See these,
My bantling? Arms that made Kalides wear
A three months' bruise!
The. And these have locked the strength
Of Lenon in defeat!
Dia. Ask Mirador
If he liked well the sandy bed I gave him.
Nac. Bethink you now how you'll outcrow disgrace,
For you'll be short of breath when you've gone through
The brash I'll give you.