Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/199

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Thou, faltering and weeping sore for those

Whom Zeus abhors! 'ware, lest thou rue thy tears!

Thou gazest on a scene that poisons sight.

I gaze on one who suffers his desert.

Now between rib and shoulder shackle him—

Do it I must—hush thy superfluous charge!

Urge thee I will—ay, hound thee to the prey.

Step downward now, enring his legs amain!

Lo, it is done—'twas but a moment's toil.

Now, strongly strike, drive in the piercing gyves—

Stern is the power that oversees thy task!

Brutish thy form, thy speech brutality!

Be gentle, an thou wilt, but blame not me

For this my stubbornness and anger fell!