Ste. Triumph is hers a certain thousand times,
And yours a dicer's once, slipped you between
Hiccough and snore of gods at shutting time.
But since that once will have a thousandth chance
To trouble me, I'll grant you free of Pyrrha.
Bia. Wait till 'tis begged. Lysander spoke with kind
And equal honor, which did soften me
To leave his daughter his. And others here
Have tendered me the gentle looks that breed
The answering benison till hearts of earth
Feel heaven's element. But you, whose hate
Should hiss from crawling shape, not upright man's,
Wake fires in me that eat through godly patience
And sweep to battle. I'll endure no further.
Back with your taunts! And if 'twill make you sore
Where pride is daintiest, I'll your daughter wed
Because she is your daughter!
Ste. Bark, you puppy,
But you'll not carry it!
Bia. Were she featured foul
As snaked Medusa,—her brow a hanging night,—
Her figure hooped as age when chin and toes
Are neighbors,—and of speech so scaly, harsh
As Stesilaus,—I, with no more color
Or shade of reason than that you deny me,
Would make her bride. The ephors gave their word,
And what I win I'll wear!
First Ephor. We'll see you do.
Content you, Stesilaus. None will weep
To know your bluff soul matched. To place! To place!
[They wrestle. Pyrrha loses. Silence, then applause for Biades]
A Lord. My heart upheld him, for I know him brave.
Another. I saw his dripping sword on Theban plain
Cut through the knotted fray and make two fields
O' the combat.
Another. He can pray too, Delphi knows!
Another. But when his gallant prayers their action find
The gods themselves rage in them.