_Clea._ Your own--will meet you, every sailor true As when he wept your banishment. And Phaon, Critias, Pelagon, Antiganor, With twenty senators and men of name, Wait on her deck in welcome.

_Bia._ Back, ye tears!

The rowers know my signal?

_Clea._ Yes, my lord.

Three cressets on the left,--set here in this Embrasure. They will watch, near as they dare, And instantly as darts your triple gleam Their oars will sweep you answer.

[_A commotion without_]

_Bia._ Hist! What's wrong?

[_Enter Hieron and Pyrrha. Hieron goes to Clearchus and tears off his veil and head-dress_]

_Clea._ O, pardon! I'll confess!

_Hie._ 'Tis you, my lord, I now unmask, not this bought wretch.

_Bia._ What, sir?

_Hie._ Your Persian dancers are Athenian boys, All slim as lizards. We o'er-eyed their steps, And on suspicion gave them such a pinch The truth flew out.

_Bia._ Their guilt does not prove mine.

Is it my crime that Athens touched me near With bribe of pardon?

_Pyrr._ Hear the boy. You are Clearchus? And of Athens?

_Clea._ I am.

_Pyrr._ You brought His pardon. Did he welcome it?

_Clea._ He did.

_Bia._ He lies! The coward lies!

_Clea._ He did agree That Phernes should draw off his fleet and join With Athens.

_Bia._ Oh! Where are the Olympian thunders That they now let you live?

_Hie._ Draw off his fleet To-night?

_Clea._ Ere dawn.

_Bia._ That such an atom--such A trifle of a body could enclose So great a lie!

_Clea._ The Persian is at watch, Waiting the signal----

_Bia._ Toad!

_Clea._ If pardon came, Two cressets set----

_Bia._ I'll shred him!

_Clea._ At the left---- Just here, my lord, would start the Persian ships For Athens.

_Bia._ Oh!

_Clea._ But if three cressets burnt, Then he would hold to Sparta.

_Hie._ Three?

_Clea._ Three, sir.

Look in his bosom if you'd read the proof.

His pardon's there.

_Bia._ By the altars I have lost, By Sparta's yet unwon, I swear he lies!

[_Pyrrha s.n.a.t.c.hes the parchment from his bosom_]

_Bia._ You bat--you mole--you cur-born flea----

_Clea._ [_To Hieron_] O, sir, Your mercy! Save me from him!

_Hie._ Wait without.

_Pyrr._ Full pardon! Bring the irons! We are sold!

Irons for Biades!

_Bia._ [_Accepting defeat_] Ay, let me wear My honor's livery. Every foe-locked gyve Will be my country's kiss, and make my blood Flow proud beneath it. Irons! Load me down, Now that you know me man, and not the thrall Of vilest fear that buys suspected breath With a mother-city's doom.

_Pyrr._ I'll grant you, sir, That by this act you do no longer lie In the unconsidered trash of estimation, But have crept up in my surprised mind To where I keep my jewels of regard.

That is soon said,--but for the rest, you die.

And more than die, for we shall hurl your name A palsy over Athens.

_Bia._ You'll not fight Athens and Persia!

_Pyrr._ Persia is not lost.

Your signal is unlit.

_Hie._ But we'll light ours!

Three cressets----

_Pyrr._ [_Stopping him_] Wait! The event's too great To helve with such slight word. That snivelling blab May've lied, or crossed the signals, for the young Are easiest dyed in craft, and take its hue As natively as innocence doth wear Its smile in sleep.

_Hie._ What then?

_Pyrr._ You'll go to Phernes.

_Hie._ There are no boats.