Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (Cookson).djvu/134

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O Zeus!

What stuff is woman made of, whom thou gav'st

To man for helpmeet!

Blithesome are we not;

And are men merrier when kingdoms fall?

Thy hand upon the holy images

Speak' st thou untowardly with thy tongue?

My fears

Are masters and my tongue a run-away.

If I cannot command let me entreat.

Come! With a good grace grant me my request,

And let this quarrel have a gentle close.

Speak with all speed then: haply thou shalt have

As speedy answer.

Hush, poor weeping wretch,

Or thou wilt scare thy friends.

Nay, I am dumb:

The fate that they must suffer I can endure.

I more approve that utterance of thine

Than all that went before: but stop not there!

Away from these sequestered images,

And pray to nobler purpose! Say, 'Ye Gods,