Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/85

Rh Only I pray that whate'er, in the end, of this wedlock he doom,

We, as many a maiden of old, may win from the ill to the good.

Great Zeus, this wedlock turn from me—

Me from the kinsman bridegroom guard!

Come what come may, 'tis Fate's decree.

Soft is thy word—the doom is hard.

Thou know'st not what the Fates provide.

How should I scan Zeus' mighty will,

The depth of counsel undescried?

Pray thou no word of omen ill.

What timely warning wouldst thou teach?