Bia. Ah, Creon!
Menas. Before the senate, then in seat to unfold
From rivalrous invention, topless honors
For these two lords, whose guilt had long devoured
Such labor's root and reason.
Bia. Creon came?
Menas. And bared the tale, made his by accident,
And swore you knew it too,—that Pyrrha there
Is Pelagon's daughter, and Phania is the child
Of Spartan Stesilaus.
Pha. Oh, oh, oh!
Alc. A rope for me then!
Cre. [To Biades] Sir, I did not speak,
But trusted all to you, until the secret
Laid night on Phania's innocence and grew
Too foul to keep.
Pyrr. You knew this, Biades?
Bia. And knew you would forgive!
Pyrr. This was the spring
Of all your oaths! In my espousèd hand
You'd lay my country's peace, knowing her name
Was Attica! This was your proof of love.
The oilèd wedge that let you in my heart!
False in the trothal moment that should make
The foulest for an instant pure!