Pyrr. [Rising] My lord!
Bia. [Indifferent] Nay, then. I can't oppose the sex
Of Aphrodite. My one frailty.
Pyrr. One!
Bia. What? I have more?
Pyrr. The moments of your life
Are not so many!
Bia. Gods be thanked, I'm young!
How may I change to please a Spartan scold?
Pyrr. Be anything you're not.
Bia. You have not heard
I am the admiral of the Spartan fleet,
With Persian Phernes yonder at my beck,
Broad-winged with all Phoenicia? You know not
I am a general?
Pyrr. Oh, to be that name,
Not make 't thy bauble! What dost know
Of secret, sleepless hours, and delving thought
That nations may lie safe? By what grave right
Wear you the title? What deep sacrifice?
Bia. Leave sacrifice to fools and women! Ay,
More lies are huddled in that saintly word
Than ever smirked outside it. The strong soul
Low bowing there, lies to his god,—the weak
Lies to the world behind a holy shield
That turns the spear of justice. Pallas, hear!
A general makes himself a master, lest
The State make him a servant.