Bia. Back, ye tears!
The rowers know my signal?
Clea. Yes, my lord.
Three cressets on the left,—set here in this
Embrasure. They will watch, near as they dare,
And instantly as darts your triple gleam
Their oars will sweep you answer.
[A commotion without]
Bia. Hist! What's wrong?
[Enter Hieron and Pyrrha. Hieron goes to Clearchus and tears off his veil and head-dress]
Clea. O, pardon! I'll confess!
Hie. 'Tis you, my lord,
I now unmask, not this bought wretch.
Bia. What, sir?
Hie. Your Persian dancers are Athenian boys,
All slim as lizards. We o'er-eyed their steps,
And on suspicion gave them such a pinch
The truth flew out.
Bia. Their guilt does not prove mine.
Is it my crime that Athens touched me near
With bribe of pardon?