Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1898) v3.djvu/80

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Thine ills—but great salvation for thy land.

I hearkened not!—heard not!—away, thou Thebes!

Not the same man is this: he flincheth now.

Depart in peace: thy bodings need I not.

Is truth dead, for that thou art fortune-crost?

Oh, by thy knees, and by thy reverend hair!—

Why pray me? Bow to ills inevitable.

Keep silence: to the city tell not this.

Thou bidd'st me sin: I will not hold my peace.

What wilt thou do to me?—wilt slay my son?

Others shall see to that. 'Tis mine to speak.