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 TECMESSA

Yet such the woe which the dread child of Zeus,

Pallas, has gendered for Odysseus' sake.

CHORUS

Doubtless the much-enduring hero in his dark spy's soul exults mockingly,

And laughs with mighty laughter at these agonies

Of a frenzied spirit. Shame! Shame!

Sharers in glee at the tale are the royal Atreidæ.

TECMESSA

Well, let them mock and glory in his ruin.

Perchance, though while he lived they wished not for him,

They yet shall wail him dead, when the spear fails them.

Men of ill judgment oft ignore the good

That lies within their hands, till they have lost it.

More to their grief he died than to their joy,

And to his own content. All his desire

He now has won, that death for which he longed.

Why then should they deride him? 'Tis the gods

Must answer for his death, not these men, no.

Then let Odysseus mock him with empty taunts.

Aias is no more with them; but has gone,

Leaving to me despair and lamentation.

TEUCER

Alas, woe, woe!

CHORUS

Keep silence! Is it Teucer's voice I hear

Lifting a dirge over this tragic sight?

TEUCER

O brother Aias, to mine eyes most dear,

Can it be thou hast fared as rumour tells?

CHORUS

Yes, he is dead, Teucer: of that be sure.