Soft words there be to soothe that wrath away:
But what device shall make the war of kin
Bloodless? that woe, the blood of many beasts,
And victims manifold to many gods,
Alone can cure. Right glad I were to shun
This strife, and am more fain of ignorance
Than of the wisdom of a woe endured.
The gods send better than my soul foretells!
Chorus.
Of many cries for mercy, hear the end.
The King of Argos.
Say on, then, for it shall not 'scape mine ear.
Chorus.
Girdles we have, and bands that bind our robes.
The King of Argos.
Even so; such things beseem a woman's wear.
Chorus.
Know, then, with these a fair device there is———
The King of Argos.
Speak, then: what utterance doth this foretell?
Chorus.
Unless to us thou givest pledge secure———
The King of Argos.
What can thy girdles' craft achieve for thee?
