The Mortal Gods and Other Plays Part 35

_Cre._ Nay, come!

Soon every ear in Athens will be crammed Wi' the tale.

_Syb._ What tale?

_Cre._ 'Tis said that Biades Was cap and spur to riot that defaced The Hermae yesternight.

_Bia._ Denosed, you mean.

_Pha._ O, do not jest! I tremble, Biades!

_Cre._ You must o'ertake the lie, my lord, ere winds Be up with 't.

_Bia._ Let it fly, my Creon. When Its wings are worn 'twill down for any heel To trample.

_Cre._ Not this feather. It broods on the air, And its dark issue makes eclipse your sun Can push no beam through.

_Bia._ Sinon's pate has hatched The ebon chick.

_Cre._ You're not far out. He wants The generals.h.i.+p.

[_Enter Hippargus, upper right_]

_Bia._ Here comes a tongue to market.

Most purchasable, tho' neither cut nor dried.

_Cre._ The senate's messenger!

_Bia._ Greeting, Hippargus.

_Hip._ Greeting, my lord,--and I must lay command On that, for you are charged on the instant to appear Before the Council.

_Bia._ The instant? Cramped to that?

And what to do there, sir?

_Hip._ Give proof you touched With no profaning and injurious hand Our threshold G.o.ds.

_Bia._ Go gently back, Hippargus, And tell the senators I pardon them, Knowing they do mistake. They would not lay So dull an antic on me, and this charge Is meant for Bico, my fat monkey here, Whom they may have for trial.

_Hip._ Spare such jest, My worthy lord. A hundred tongues have sworn You said in open street, nor cared who heard, The guardian Hermae might be nipped of ears, And noses too, yet serve our pious turn, Since they smell out no faults and citizens Confess none.

_Bia._ Ah! Do they make wit a crime, Who have no taint of its color? Say 'twere red The senators would never be mistook For woodp.e.c.k.e.rs. G.o.ds! When they prate, I know Athene's owl is stuffed, and her wise serpent An old-year slough! Off now! Your pannier's full.

Trot and unpack.

[_Exit Hippargus_]

_Cre._ Out! Follow, and deny This answer! Dare you, standing on the top And slippery point of fortune, throw your cap In Heaven's face?

_Bia._ Dare I do less? No, friend.

The Council fears me, and would see me down.

My power is in the people, who for gold And merry flattery give me their love.

But now they're on the quibble how to turn, To me or Sinon. I'll not let them see My office brought to question, and myself Outfaced by perjurers in Sinon's keep.

Nay, when they find I'm not the senate's groom, But know myself, their pride will know me too, And I shall go to bed as I rose up, The Athenian general.

_Cre._ The street will bellow.

I'll listen to it, and pick interpretation From 'ts roar. You'll come with me?

_Bia._ Though oracles, On every curb and step, begged audience, I'd not go out.

[_Exit Creon_]

_Pha._ Oh, me!

_Bia._ Why so? I'm not a hare To jump because a leaf falls. Wag the hour, And Pleasure wait on us! If she fill not My cup to-day, I fear it must go empty A good twelvemonth. There are fair maids In Syracuse, but they'll peer on me through A crimson lattice.

_Pha._ You'll not see them, sir!

Or break a thousand oaths! So oft you've sworn No beauty out of Athens could persuade Your eyes to wors.h.i.+p.

_Syb._ Then the Spartan maid Lodged here will let him sleep.

_Bia._ What maid is this?

_Pha._ Why, Pyrrha,--Stesilaus' daughter.

_Bia._ Here?

_Pha._ Ay, everybody's here.

_Syb._ I saw her leave The chariot. Such clothes!

_Pha._ _No_ clothes, you mean!

_Syb._ [_In shocked aside_] Just to the knees!

_Pha._ And open to the hips!

_Syb._ You say it!

_Pha._ And manners, none. I took her nuts And sugared poppy seeds. She said she kept No parrot.

_Syb._ Here's a guest!

_Pha._ And when I said I _lived_ on them----

_Bia._ My dainty!

_Pha._ --then she asked If that made me so little!

_Bia._ Ay, they feed To grow in Sparta. Breed but monsters there.

No arts, no grace, no soft and tendrilled speech That creeps to ends of being and looks back Exultant and afraid. They are not men, But, wearing human port, would force on us A beastly comrades.h.i.+p. Set me to woo A toad bred in a ditch of Attica, But not a maid of Sparta! Were she fair As was Persephone when she drew the G.o.d From nether earth, yet sprung from that hard soil, I'd let her beauty pa.s.s.