Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (Cookson).djvu/178

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'Words,' quotha? Aye, and shout 'em if need be.

Come down and cast a ring-bolt round his legs.

The thing is featly done;—and 'twas quick work.

Now with a sound rap knock the bolt-pins home!

For heavy handed is thy task-master.

So villainous a form vile tongue befits.

Be thou the heart of wax, but chide not me

That I am gruffish, stubborn and stiff-willed.

Oh, come away! The tackle holds him fast.

Now, where thou hang'st, insult! Plunder the Gods

For creatures of a day! To thee what gift

Will mortals tender to requite thy pains?

The destinies were out miscalling thee

Designer: a designer thou wilt need

From trap so well contrived to twist thee free.

[Exeunt.

O divine air! Breezes on swift bird-wings,

Ye river fountains, and of ocean-waves

The multitudinous laughter! Mother Earth!

And thou all-seeing circle of the sun,

Behold what I, a God, from Gods endure!