Dia. Then he'll show his reefed
And wattled skin, and say that want of bread
O'ercame him, not our valor.
Art. Look you, maids!
His hollow eyes do beg some pity of us.
We'll give him yet a chance, and mate him with
Our lame Coraina. She's near well again.
Will drop her crutch to be our champion.
Bia. Zeus,
Behold me patient! Furies, though I lack
Some vaunting flesh, the sharpest ill that on
My body ravins feeds a spirit that
Might meet with Heracles and give him need
Of both his arms!
Dia. Ha! Better! Maids, his tongue
Will fight yet!
Ste. Peace! The ephors choose
That Dianessa bear this honor off.
She threw strong Mirador, first of the youths,
Which puts her o'er the rest.
First Ephor. We've else determined
That with the fall the Athenian forfeits life.
Bia. And if I win, my lords? Since life must pay
Defeat, should victory not solicit me
With counterpoisèd prize?
First Ephor. We shall accept you
Leader and comrade, and give escort fair
To bear your suit to Phernes.
Lys. More! The maid
Shall be your bride, and bind you son and brother
To Sparta's love.
Second Ephor. You, Stesilaus, assent?