Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/574

476 Ο Pallas, Pallas! Now it bites again,

That bitter throb of pain:

Come, boy, in mercy smite

The father that begat thee; draw thy sword,

Sword none will dare to blame:

Heal thou the evil plight

With which thy mother, sold to guilt abhorred,

Hath kindled all my wrath with this foul shame.

Ah, might I see her fallen even so,

As she hath brought me low!

Ο Hades, dear and sweet,

Brother of Zeus on high,

Smite me with quickest death-blow, I entreat,

And give me rest, give rest from this my misery!