Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Jebb 1917).djvu/191

91—111]

. Hail, Athena! Hail, Zeus-born maid! How well hast thou stood by me! Yea, I will crown thy shrine with trophies of pure gold for this prize!

. 'Tis fairly spoken. But tell me this—hast thou dyed thy sword well in the Greek camp?

. That vaunt is mine; I disclaim it not.

. And perchance turned thine armed hand on the Atreidae?

. So that nevermore will they dishonour Ajax.

. The men are dead, as I take thy meaning:

. Dead: now let them rob me of my arms!

. Good: and then the son of Laertius—in what plight hast thou left him? Hath he escaped thee?

. What, thou askest me of that accursed fox?

. Yea, in sooth—of Odysseus, thine adversary.

. No guest so welcome, Lady: he is sitting in the house—in bonds: I do not mean him to die just yet.

. What wouldst thou do first? What larger advantage wouldst thou win?

. First, he shall be bound to a pillar beneath my roof—

. The hapless man—what despite wilt thou do unto him?

. —and have his back crimsoned with the scourge, ere he die.

. Nay, do not torture the wretch so cruelly.