From starved ears.
Apol. Drink but down to the source, they resurge.
Join hands! Yours and yours too! A dance or a dirge?
Cho. Quashed be our quarrel! Sourly and smilingly,
Bare and gowned, bleached limbs and browned,
Drive we a dance, three and one, reconcilingly,
Thanks to the cup where dissension is drowned,
Defeat proves triumphant and slavery crowned.
Infancy? What if the rose-streak of morning