_Ste._ You speak to Stesilaus.

_Pel._ Eh, I know You've her in hand. My Sachinessa now-- [_Sighs_]

But she loves Phania best. That locks her tongue.

And, friend, do you not see the high all-ruling Will Has moved behind our own?

_Ste._ I think it so.

Our aim achieves its heaven, though we smart Beneath it. To the outer glozing fame That now attires us splendent, we may add Inmost applause. When we exchanged our babes, 'Twas for this end and day, and had we held To our first intent and taken our own again, Our hope had died unfruitive. 'Twas there That deity came in and shifted us To th' true sybillic course.

_Pel._ Who dares say else?

We'll wear the issue as a sacred robe Fallen on us from Olympus.

_Ste._ Which our wisdom Fits comely to us. Forget it not, such gift Had been withheld from minds too poor to be The heirs of Zeus.

_Pel._ But if the clay-eyed mob, Whose pottage traffic up Olympian paths Blocks commerce G.o.dly 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.

_Pel._ What! What, boy?

_Bia._ I say when she's his daughter. Let that in At your good ear, and in the t'other one I'll call _you_ father.

_Pel._ Ruin! It's come!

_Bia._ Who thinks I'd make that Spartan grunt my father, knows Not me! What? Set that boding beard at head Of my Athenian house? Or go to Sparta To hut me where I would not ask a stall For a borrowed horse?

_Pel._ But----

_Bia._ Scratch my helpless throat With bread a pig would stick at? Swallow brew Of salt and soot? And chafe my pumiced skin With itching linsey?--or an untanned hide, As man were still the beast that wore it?

_Pel._ Peace, My son----

_Bia._ Say grace for leeks and goose-foot?

_Pel._ But----

_Bia._ Though Eros pinned me head and foot with shafts, I've saved my eyes, bless my united wits, And know the high-road! I'll not lose me on A pig-trail to a sty.

_Pel._ But if these Spartans hear They'll sack the city! Zeus deliver us!

We're lost! we're lost! Oh, Biades!

_Bia._ [_Calm_] Talk in a m.u.f.f, good father Pelagon, Or we indeed are lost.

_Pel._ You'll keep the secret?

_Bia._ A time. I've plans in seed will make all Sparta A garden for my Athens, where her fame Shall browse to its tallest. Trust me, Pelagon.

I'm still a general!

[_Enter, lower right, young men who surround Biades, and press him off, singing_]

Gander now must keep with goose!

Biades, O, Biades, Thou shalt ne'er the cord unloose, For the mighty G.o.d decrees He shall hang who dares the noose!

[_Re-enter Stesilaus_]

_Ste._ He's gone? I took My anger off where it might safely blow.

This path brushed clear by Heaven must not be closed By our stumbling selves. The widgeon! He would fly Above the eagle, but I'll snip his feathers, Give me good time! He'd live in Athens, ha!

And swore on Hera's altar he would be A son of Sparta!

_Pel._ Nay, I noted, sir, That Sparta was not named in 's oath.

_Ste._ What now?

_Pel._ Naught, naught, my friend! Yet he but swore to make The land of Pyrrha his.

_Ste._ And what meant that But Sparta? If his warm wooer's oath must cool, We've winters that will do it.

_Pel._ Caution's best.

Slow-mare will get you home.

_Ste._ A year or two Of good black bread, and free winds on his skin Will take the maiden from his cheeks and set A true man's beard there. Tush! I thought that Fate, Granting my main desire, gave me this plague, Which, with the rest, now proves my life has pleased High arbiters. You're silent, Pelagon.

_Pel._ No, no! Yes, yes! I think so. 'Tis indeed!

_Ste._ Come, come, my friend! We will go forth and meet The occasion as a guest, bethinking us We walk between mankind and deity.

[_They start out and are met by Alcanor and Phania who fall before them_]

_Pha._ [_Kneeling to Stesilaus_] Your blessing, father!

_Alc._ [_At Pelagon's feet_] Blessing, dearest father!