Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (Cookson).djvu/146

134 But of a savage temper—in no wise

Maidenly, as befits his name—he strode,

His eyeballs rolling,—not without his boast

Advancing to the Gates. Our infamy

On his bronze shield, orbed to protect his bulk,

He flashed:—the ogrish Sphinx,—so riveted

That its embossed and staring ugliness

His arm convulsed to hideous counterfeit

Of life and motion. Underneath he sports

The figure of a man—a wight Cadmean—

As if on him to centre all our bolts!

He'll prove no petty trafficker in war,—

Nor for a bagman's profit lose his travel,—

Parthenopaeus, waif of Arcady!

Oh, that a rogue like this,—an outlander

In Argos, one who pays his reckoning,

A handsome sum for being handsome-bred,

Should hurl against these walls his boyish spite

And spleenful threats, I pray God bring to naught!

If the same measure that they mete the Gods

Be meted out to them, then their bad vows

Shall hurl them far in hopeless overthrow!

But for him too, your churl Arcadian,

A knight is found: no braggart,—but his hand

Soon finds the thing to do! Actor his name,

Brother of him just chosen. No foul flood

Of deedless words will he let flow within

To water pale, rank weeds of cowardice;

Nor will he suffer to overpass these walls

The man who comes in guise of foe, escutcheoned