Chorus.
With tablets new these statues they shall grace.
King.
Thy words are riddles; plainer be thy speech!
Chorus.
We from these gods forthwith ourselves will hang.
King.
A word I hear piercing my very heart. 460
Chorus.
Thou hast it now, for I thine eyes have purged.
King.
Divers these troubles, hard to struggle with;
A host of ills bursts o'er me like a flood;
Ruin's unfathomed sea, full hard to cross,
This have I entered: harbour there is none,
For should I spurn your prayers, pollution dire
Thou namest, overtowering arrow's flight.
But if before the walls taking my stand,
I try the issue with Ægyptos' sons,
Thy kinsmen;—bitter is the cost to stain 470
With blood of men the soil, for women's sake.
Yet needs must I revere the wrath of Zeus,
The suppliants' god; for, among mortal men
No awe more dread. Do thou then, of these maids
The aged sire, these branches in thine arms
Taking, on other shrines of native gods
