Bia. O, sue for me, Archippe!
Give me my bride! Whatever be her race,
Her home is in my arms!
Arc. Forgive him, Pyrrha.
Not for his pleading, but for love I know
You bear him.
[Pyrrha permits Biades to embrace her]
Alc. [To Phania] Sweet, we know our heaven by
Those moments in a hell.
Amen. Here's feast enough!
Bia. But poor old Creon in this rain of porridge
Starves for a spoon.
Cre. And you, perforce, take one
Of Spartan make.
Bia. I'm caught. But in love's lap.
I'll swallow Sparta for so dear a bed.
Menas. And you need fear no distaff tyranny,
My lord. There you are safe. Although your bride
Be Hera-limbed, you've proved yourself her Zeus
In open match.
Cre. How if her movèd heart
Crept to her arm and slipped the victory
Unwon to love?