“But ah, the end, the end of my emprise!”

“The bitter ire, the wrathful woe

Of Hera, queen of heaven—-“

 

“And bid you hoard my words, inscribing them

On memory’s tablets.”

 

“A shrine is stronger than a tower to save,

A shield that none may cleave.”

 

“I cannot aid you without risk of scathe,

Nor scorn your prayers—unmerciful it were.

Abiding in his wrath, the suppliants’ lord

Doth smite, unmoved by cries, unbent by prayerful word.

Yet if against your kin, Aegyptus’ race,

Before our gates I front the doom of war,

Will not the city’s loss be sore? Shall men

For women’s sake incarnadine the ground?

But yet the wrath of Zeus, the suppliants’ lord

I needs must fear: most awful unto man

The terror of his anger.”

 

“In night. To pilot wise, the adage saith,

Night is a day of wakefulness and pain.”

 

“And hold your life less dear than chastity.”

Information on the book: Four Plays of Aeschylus