Lys. [With a glance at Pyrrha] And bring it down,
My lord!
[Exeunt Lysander, Biades, and Hieron]
Pyrr. Now, Impudence, no more's to do!
Go up and take thy crown. Before my eyes
He teaches them he wooes me, and my pride
Mutely abets his guile. [Holds up the dagger]
My fine defence,
Thou'rt warder to a bosom unbesieged.
In Biades' contempt I have a guard
That saves thine office. Go, you glittering mock!
[In a passion of resolution she throws the dagger through the door]
That's done. No matter. He does not look at me,
Or looks as though his eyes begged pardon of him,
For their chance stop on nothing.
[Re-enter Biades, the dagger in his hand]
Bia. Here's a toy
Caught from the rigging. Yours, I think.
[Offers it to her. She does not take it]
It must be dear. I've seen you fondle it.
Is it not yours?
Pyrr. It was.
Bia. Then is. And worth
Your keeping. A good blade, though Spartan plain.
Pyrr. I'm weary of it. In Athens I shall find
Another pattern.
Bia. [Testing blade] Fine and strong. Will wear
A hundred years, then make a door for death.
[Turns it against his heart. She starts]
You'll take it, Pyrrha. To throw it to the sea
Were waste for an Athenian.
Pyrr. Keep it then.