g
As once it did in his; nay, the warm tide
Which stirred the lips of bold Demosthenes
And all that dauntless band who of old time
Gave heart and life for Athens, still is thine.
In our Hellenic story, there is none
Who has done more than thou, who hast placed love,
Wedlock, and queenly rule, and all things dear
To a tender woman's heart, below the State--
A patriot before all. Is there no favour
A State preserved may grant thee?

_Gycia._ Noble Zetho,
I ask but this. I know my husband's heart,
How true it was and loyal. He is led,
I swear, by evil counsels to this crime;
And maybe, though I seek not to excuse him,
It was the son's love for his dying sire,
Whom he should see no more, that scheming men
Have worked on to his ruin. Banish him
To his own city, though it break my heart,
But harm him not; and for those wretched men
Whose duty 'tis to obey, shed not their blood,
But let the vengeance of our city fall
Upon the guilty only.

_Zet._ Brethren all,
Ye hear what 'tis she asks, and though to grant it
Is difficult indeed, yet her petition
Comes from the saviour of the State. I think
We well may grant her prayer. Though well I know
How great the danger, yet do I believe
It may be done. Is it so, worthy brethren?

[Senators _nod assent._

Daughter, thy prayer is granted.

_Gycia._ Sirs, I thank you;
I love you for your mercy.

_Zet._ For the rest,
I counsel that we do not rouse the city.
'Twere of no use to-night to set our arms,
Blunt with long peace and rusted with disuse,
Against these banded levies. By to-morrow--
And we are safe till then--we shall have time
To league together such o'erwhelming force
As may make bloodshed needless, vain their plot,
And mercy possible. Meantime, dear lady,
Breathe not a word of what thine eyes have seen,
But bear thyself as though thou hadst seen nothing,
And had no care excepting to do honour
To thy dead sire; and when the weary day
Tends to its close, school thou thy heavy heart,
And wear what mask of joy thou canst, and sit
Smiling beside thy lord at the high feast,
Where all will meet. See that his cup is filled
To the brim; drink healths to Bosphorus and Cherson.
Seem thou to drink thyself, having a goblet
Of such a colour as makes water blush
Rosy as wine. When