The same motives recur with greater fulness and thoughtfulness in another play of the early war time--the exact year is not certain--the _Suppliant Women_. Scholars reading the play now, in cool blood, with the issues at stake forgotten, are inclined to smile at a sort of pedantry in the poet's enthusiasm. It reminds one of the punctiliousness with which Shelley sometimes gives one the sincere milk of the word according to Godwin. This play opens, like the last, with a scene of supplication. A band of women--Argive mothers they are this time, whose sons have been slain in war against Thebes--have come to Athens as suppliants. They are led by Adrastus, the great and conquered lord of Argos, and finding Aethra, the king's mother, at her prayers beside the altar, have surrounded her with a chain of suppliant branches which she dares not break. They only ask that Theseus, her son, shall get back for them the bodies of their dead sons, whom the Thebans, contrary to all Hellenic law, have flung out unburied for dogs to tear. Theseus at first refuses, on grounds of policy, and the broken-hearted women take up their branches and begin to go, when Aethra, who has been weeping silently, breaks out: "Is this kind of wrong to be allowed to exist?" "Thou shalt not suffer it, thou being my child! Thou hast seen men scorn thy City, call her wild Of counsel, mad; thou hast seen the fire of morn Flash from her eyes in answer to their scorn. Come toil on toil; 'tis this that makes her grand; Peril on peril! And common states, that stand In caution, twilight cities, dimly wise-- Ye know them, for no light is in their eyes. Go forth, my son, and help. My fears are fled. Women in sorrow call thee, and men dead." (_Suppl._ 320 ff.)