Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (Cookson).djvu/54

42

My children, this shall nothing profit them:

That which provokes in you resentful thoughts

Shall work the wrath of the immortal Gods.

Father, they fear no tridents: neither can

Arrow or thunderbolt restrain their hands.

They are too much swollen with their own conceit

For awe to sway them; and in violent pride

Have run too far to stay their reckless feet

For aught that preacheth from, these holy bounds:

But like a pack of disobedient hounds

They would not hear, though all the Gods should chide.

Ay, but three dogs are not a match for one

Gray wolf: nor can the byblus-fruit compare

With wheaten corn.

They are as savage beasts,

All fury and all lust and all uncleanness;

We must defend ourselves against their attack

As quickly as we may.

Nay, there is time:

Fleets neither set sail nor are brought to anchor

All in a moment: nor, when anchors hold,

Are they who shepherd ships so quick to moor

And trust their safety to a cable's stretch.

And least of all when they have come to a land

That hath no haven, and night draweth on.