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 TEUCER

Begone then. For to me 'twere worst disgrace

That I should listen to a fool's idle blustering. [Exit .]

CHORUS

Soon mighty and fell will the strife be begun.

But speedily now, Teucer, I pray thee,

Seek some fit place for his hollow grave,

Which men's memories evermore shall praise,

As he lies there mouldering at rest.

TEUCER

Look yonder, where the child and wife of Aias

Are hastening hither in good time to tend

The funeral rites of his unhappy corpse.

My child, come hither. Stand near and lay thy hand

As a suppliant on thy father who begat thee.

And kneel imploringly with locks of hair

Held in thy hand—mine, and hers, and last thine—

The suppliant's treasure. But if any Greek

By violence should tear thee from this corpse,

For that crime from the land may he be cast

Unburied, and his whole race from the root

Cut off, even as I sever this lock.

There, take it, boy, and keep it. Let none seek

To move thee; but still kneel there and cling fast,

And you, like men, no women, by his side

Stand and defend him till I come again,

When I have dug his grave, though all forbid. [Exit .]

CHORUS

When will this agony draw to a close?

When will it cease, the last of our years of exile?

Years that bring me labour accurst of hurtling spears,

Woe that hath no respite or end,

But wide-spread over the plains of Troy

Works sorrow and shame for Hellas' sons.