Page:Sophocles (Storr 1912) v1.djvu/191



Whate’er I utter, have no fear of me.

Begone!

O wretched me!

Begone!

O daughter, what will hap anon?

Forth from our borders speed ye both!

How keep you then your troth?

Heaven’s justice never smites

Him who ill with ill requites.

But if guile with guile contend,

Bane, not blessing, is the end.

Arise, begone and take thee hence straightway,

Lest on our land a heavier curse thou lay.

O sirs! ye suffered not my father blind,

Albeit gracious and to ruth inclined,

Knowing the deeds he wrought, not innocent,

But with no ill intent;

Yet heed a maiden’s moan

Who pleads for him alone;

My eyes, not reft of sight, 169