Pel. Though he never come to the hunt. But Biades
Has run the chase, and's bravely home again,
The game in pack.
Ste. Too noble game for him!
My girl! That I should ever play the sire
To a fop of Athens!
Pel. If the burn's so raw,
You've secret salve for it.
Ste. Yes. 'Tis not my blood
That so forgets its source!
Pel. Sh! Stesilaus!
A little butter on the tongue, my friend,
Does no man harm.
Ste. Butter a hackle, not
My tongue! If I'm so rubbed, I'll rasp the winds
Till they sprout ears. Don't "sh" me, Pelagon.
I'll muffle in no corners.
Pel. Hist, I say——
Ste. Don't zizz into my beard! We are not curs
To nose and smell in council!
Pel. Ruin's on us!
You will be heard——
[Enter Menas, upper right]