Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1894) v1.djvu/247

Rh Upon a grave more meet for oxen slain?

Or doth Achilles, fain, to requite with death

His slayers, justly aim death's shaft at her?

Now never aught of harm wrought she to him.

Helen should he demand, his tomb's lit victim:

'Twas she to Troy that drew him, and destroyed.

But if some chosen captive needs must die,

In beauty peerless, not to us points this;

For Tyndareus' daughter matchless is in form,

And was found wronging him no less than we.

This plea against his "justice" I array.

But what return thou ow'st me, on my claim,

Hear—thou didst touch mine hand, as thou dost own,

And wrinkled cheek, low cowering at my feet.

Lo, in my turn thine hand, thy beard, I touch,

That grace of old reclaiming, now thy suppliant.

Not from mine arms tear thou my child away,

Nor slay ye her: suffice the already dead.

In her I joy, in her forget my woes.

For many a lost bliss she my solace is:

My city she, nurse, staff, guide for my feet.

Not tyrannously the strong should use their strength,

Nor they which prosper think to prosper aye.

I too once was, but now am I no more,

And all my weal one day hath reft from me.

O, by thy beard, have thou respect to me!

Pity me: go thou to Achaia's host;

Persuade them how that shame it is to slay

Women, whom first ye slew not, when ye tore

These from the altars, but for pity spared.

Lo, the same law is stablished among you

For free and bond as touching blood-shedding.

Thine high repute, how ill soe'er thou speak,