Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1898) v3.djvu/492

464 What Phrygian herald, or what ambassage,

Came not with instant prayer for help to Troy?

What splendour of gifts did we not send to thee?

Alien from Greece as we, our countryman,

To Greeks didst thou betray us, all thou couldst.

Yet thee from petty lordship made I great,

Yea, king of all the Thracians, with this arm,

When round Pangaius and Paionia's land

In battle-brunt on Thracian chiefs I fell,

Shattered their shield, and gave their folk to thee

In thrall. This grace thou hast trodden under foot,

And laggard com'st to help afflicted friends,

While they that are in no wise kin to us

Have long been here; and some in grave-mounds lie

Slain,—no mean loyalty to our city this,—

Some yet in arms beside their battle-cars

Abide, enduring hardness—chilly blast

And the sun's glare throat-parching, not on beds,

Like thee, with pledge of many a long deep draught.

Thus, that thou mayst know Plector's plain blunt mood,

I blame thee, and I speak it to thy face.

Even such am I: no devious track of words

I follow: no man I of double tongue.

I for my absence from this land was vexed,

Chafing with grief of heart, far more thou.

But Scythia's folk, whose frontiers march with mine,

Even as I set forward, Troyward bound,

Made war on me; by this I had reached the shores