Pyrr. She shall nothing know
Of this hour's lapse——
Bia. O, bitter stars! O, Death
Past fatal!—reaching o'er thy charnel bound
To usurp the immortal garden! Die a traitor!
Never will dew from a forgiving eye
Fall on my grave!
Pyrr. Nor will the upbraiding gaze
Of Heaven be more tender. For you chose
To risk your country's life on turn of chance,
Having no surety that drawn to danger
You then could pluck her out. Ah, made her fate
Your stake at dice, because, escaped the hazard,
You'd toss with her to fortune! And your guilt
Is heavy in her fall as though your hand
Bore down her last defence and fierce untrussed
Her heart to th' wolvish air.
Bia. Oh, Pyrrha, Pyrrha!
Pyrr. Then why haste on to death? The noblest shades
Will make no room for you where'er they walk.
Why rush through the first gate to meet their cold
Immortal scorn?
Bia. But life with honor gone!
Pyrr. If death could buy it, then 'twere wise
To buy so goldenly. But that's too late.
Choose life,—with honor such as Sparta lays
On those who serve but her. This treachery
That we've by hap unbagged in 'ts eanling hour
Shall be safe snugged again. And cherished too!
For in my eyes it is the one brave flower
Of your most barren being. None shall know it,
And Sparta, as she will, may laurels weave
About your faith.
Bia. But Hieron?
Pyrr. [To Hieron] You'll swear with me? [He hesitates]
In Sparta's name? [Takes his hand] And mine?
Bia. No, no!