The Mortal Gods and Other Plays Part 49

_Bia._ And I, My generous, dear lords, would woo and win Some mute and humble maid. I would not force The n.o.ble Dianessa bend her head To one unworthied by a hostile Fate.

_First Ephor._ Tut, sir! If Fortune's love returns with heat That makes you conqueror, by that same sun Her pride will melt, and you will find her meek As gosling in your hand.

_Second Ephor._ 'Tis settled so.

Wear what you win.

_Pyrr._ [_Rising_] Ye reverend men, and you, My n.o.ble father, may my suit reveal My love to Sparta and your love to me, Which has not spoken in this act of yours That overpeers me and gives up my due To Dianessa.

_First Ephor._ Ha?

_Pyrr._ Though Mirador Was forced below her, never in a bout Has she ta'en honors from me, while I oft Have left her down.

_Second Ephor._ Speak'st truly?

_Pyrr._ Hear herself Avouch it.

_Dia._ Ay, you overmate me, but The gap between us will not cast the match To Biades. And I was chosen.

_Fourth Ephor._ Nay, You must give place.

_Pyrr._ I've other reason, sir.

It is my dear, war-honored father lays This match on Sparta, and my pride of house Would bear his counsel through the act that sets The sage's seal upon it.

_First Ephor._ A daughter, sir!

_Ste._ Bare duty might so speak.

_Pyrr._ This gives me warmth My maiden comrades lack. By every vein My father gave me, his time-laurelled brow Shall never wear a garland less!

_Second Ephor._ Well sworn!

_Pyrr._ And for I saw----

_Third Ephor._ More reasons?

_Pyrr._ --the rude shame The Athenian put upon the amba.s.sadors, And mine own eyes bore him in lowest semblance, Demeaned from manhood, his dishonor wrapped In purple cost that left it yet more naked.

I swear he shall not honored lead our wars!

If our gray heroes fail us, we have dames To choose from,--need not go to Athens!

_First Ephor._ This speaks! The victory's won where courage makes Such stout provision.

_Pyrr._ If I fail, my lords, Then G.o.ds are mongers and their favors sell, Denying honest prayers.

_Lys._ Come, Biades.

Art ready?

_Bia._ Ay, long past!

_First Ephor._ Your places then.

_Ste._ Delay you! Biades, with modesty Unlooked for, but most fit, you gave up claim To Dianessa.----

_Bia._ Nay, 'twas but an offer Whose bounty met refusal.

_Ste._ I'll accept it In Pyrrha's name.

_Bia._ So prudent against loss?

This caution, sir, gives me a victor's heart.

_Ste._ Triumph is hers a certain thousand times, And yours a dicer's once, slipped you between Hiccough and snore of G.o.ds at shutting time.

But since that once will have a thousandth chance To trouble me, I'll grant you free of Pyrrha.

_Bia._ Wait till 'tis begged. Lysander spoke with kind And equal honor, which did soften me To leave his daughter his. And others here Have tendered me the gentle looks that breed The answering benison till hearts of earth Feel heaven's element. But you, whose hate Should hiss from crawling shape, not upright man's, Wake fires in me that eat through G.o.dly patience And sweep to battle. I'll endure no further.

Back with your taunts! And if 'twill make you sore Where pride is daintiest, I'll your daughter wed Because she is your daughter!

_Ste._ Bark, you puppy, But you'll not carry it!

_Bia._ Were she featured foul As snaked Medusa,--her brow a hanging night,-- Her figure hooped as age when chin and toes Are neighbors,--and of speech so scaly, harsh As Stesilaus,--I, with no more color Or shade of reason than that you deny me, Would make her bride. The ephors gave their word, And what I win I'll wear!

_First Ephor._ We'll see you do.

Content you, Stesilaus. None will weep To know your bluff soul matched. To place! To place!

[_They wrestle. Pyrrha loses. Silence, then applause for Biades_]

_A Lord._ My heart upheld him, for I know him brave.

_Another._ I saw his dripping sword on Theban plain Cut through the knotted fray and make two fields O' the combat.

_Another._ He can pray too, Delphi knows!

_Another._ But when his gallant prayers their action find The G.o.ds themselves rage in them.

_First Ephor._ [_To Pyrrha_] Daughter, take Fair thanks from us for brave support of Sparta, And having lost, more thanks for giving her Another soldier. Has defeat made soft Your heart for swift espousal?

_Bia._ Let me woo In slower way, good father. Tho' my boast Rose high 'gainst Stesilaus' scorn, I'm not Of heart so rash that I would lose her love By taking it. With Sparta's aid now mine, I'll ask her choose a n.o.ble guard and sail With me, that I, by time and fortune graced, May win a double suit, herself and Persia.

_First Ephor._ We'll think of it. Our plans are still unthreshed.

Come with us, Biades.

[_Ephors, with senators and Biades, lead the way over bridge. All follow except Stesilaus and Pyrrha_]

_Ste._ How was 't he won?

And he was livid famine! Scurfed with weeks Of beggary! While you--such arms had saved Antiope from Theseus!

[_Pyrrha droops silent_]

Up, my daughter!

We'll make this fall our hope. You shall take sail With Biades----

_Pyrr._ G.o.ds hear me, no!