Part 17 (2/2)

We are doomed to die!

Good friends, Know you my brother, the Lord Theodorus?

I have something urgent I would say to him.

I will write it down, and you shall give it him When he comes forth from the banquet.

[_Disappears._

_1st Lab._ Good my lady. Her brother, too, she calls him. I go bail it is her lover, and this is an a.s.signation. Well, well, we poor men must not be too particular.

_2nd Lab._ No, indeed; but let us get on with our work, or we shall never finish in time.

_Ire. (reappearing)._ Here it is. Give it him, I pray, when he comes forth.

'Tis a thing of life and death.

_1st Lab._ So they all think, Poor love-sick fools!

_Ire._ See, here is gold for you-- 'Tis all I have; but he will double it, If you fail not.

_1st Lab._ Lady, we shall be here, We must be here. Fear not, we shall not miss him.

SCENE II.--_The banquet hall._

_At a table, on a dais_, ZETHO, ASANDER, GYCIA, _and_ Senators; LYSIMACHUS, _and_ Courtiers _of Bosphorus._ Magnates _of Cherson at cross tables._ ASANDER, LYSIMACHUS, _the_ Courtiers, _and_ Senators _seem flushed with wine._

_Zetho._ I drink to him whose gracious memory We celebrate to-day. In all our Cherson, Which boasts descent from the Athenian race, Who one time swayed the world, there was no man, Nor ever had been, fired with deeper love Of this our city, or more heartfelt pride In our republican rule (LYSIMACHUS _sneers_), which free-born men Prize more than life. I do not seek to bind Those who, long nurtured under kingly rule, Give to the Man the love we bear the State; But never shall the name of King be heard In this our Cherson.

_Lys._ Archon, 'twere unwise To risk long prophecies.

_Bard._ Be silent, sir, If you would not offend.

_Zetho._ I bid you all Drink to the memory of Lamachus And weal to our Republic.

_Lys._ Shall we drink Its memory, for it has not long to live, If it be still alive?

_Bard._ It will outlive thee.

_Thou_ hast not long to live.

_Lys._ Longer than thou, If swords be sharp.

_Zetho._ I pray you, gentlemen, Bandy not angry words.

_Gycia._ My Lord Asander, Thy cup is empty. Shall I fill it for thee?

Thou lovedst Lamachus?

_Asan._ Ay, that I did; And I love thee. But I have drunk enough.

I must keep cool to-night.

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