Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1898) v3.djvu/505

Rh

Go: be thou sure that all thy care is mine,

That so triumphant I may see my friends.

Yea, and thou too shalt prove my zeal for thee.

Ho ye! I bid you, over-eager twain—

Laertes' son!—let sleep the whetted swords;

For at our feet dead lies the Thracian chief;

Our prize his steeds are. But the foe have heard,

And close on you. Now must ye with all speed

To yon ship-channels flee. Why linger ye,

When bursts the storm of foes, to save your lives?

Enter Odysseus followed by Chorus, tumultuously.

Ha, smite!—ha, smite!—ha, smite!—ha, smite!

Stab thou!—stab thou!—who is this wight?

Look ye on him—this fellow, I say!—

Marauders who under night's dark pall

Are startling our array!—

Hitherward, hitherward, all!

I have them caught in the grasp of mine hand!

(To Od.) What is thy troop?—whence art thou?—a man of what land?