Pel. But if the clay-eyed mob,
Whose pottage traffic up Olympian paths
Blocks commerce godly and invisible——
Ste. Tush, cut the string, if you have aught in bag.
Pel. Why, I would say if some of grosser sight
Than our two selves, should fumble on our secret
That Pyrrha is Athens born——
Ste. Nay, put your fears
In pocket. It shall not be known.
[Enter Biades]
Bia. Ha, nunky!
Where is my happy father? [Sees Stesilaus]
A suit, my lord!
I've Pyrrha's leave to make our home in Athens
If thou wilt bless our dwelling. Crave thy grace
For sake of her in whom thy pride best flowers!
Here she'll o'erlay all Spartan crudity
With suavest bloom, and take e'en native place
Where Athens' love would set her.
Ste. Never, sir! [Exit, middle left]
Bia. The gray fox snaps. Ho, but I'll draw his teeth,
And he shall yelp for 't too!
Pel. Shame, sir! Not give
The road to him? The father of your bride?
Bia. I will when she's his daughter.