ETEOCLES. Ay, pay thy vows to Heaven; I grudge them not, But—so thou strike no fear into our men— Have calm at heart, nor be too much afraid. CHORUS. Alack, it is fresh in mine ears, the clamour and crash of the fray, And up to our holiest height I sped on my timorous way, Bewildered, beset by the din! ETEOCLES. Now, if ye hear the bruit of death or wounds, Give not yourselves o’ermuch to shriek and scream, For Ares ravens upon human flesh. CHORUS. Ah, but the snorting of the steeds I hear! ETEOCLES. Then, if thou hearest, hear them not too well! CHORUS. Hark, the earth rumbles, as they close us round! ETEOCLES. Enough if I am here, with plans prepared. CHORUS. Alack, the battering at the gates is loud! ETEOCLES. Peace! stay your tongue, or else the town may hear! CHORUS. O warders of the walls, betray them not! ETEOCLES. Bestrew your cries! in silence face your fate. CHORUS. Gods of our city, see me not enslaved! ETEOCLES. On me, on all, thy cries bring slavery. CHORUS. Zeus, strong to smite, turn upon foes thy blow! ETEOCLES. Zeus, what a curse are women, wrought by thee! CHORUS. Weak wretches, even as men, when cities fall. ETEOCLES. What! clasping gods, yet voicing thy despair? CHORUS. In the sick heart, fear machete prey of speech. ETEOCLES. Light is the thing I ask thee—do my will! CHORUS. Ask swiftly: swiftly shall I know my power. ETEOCLES. Silence, weak wretch! nor put thy friends in fear. CHORUS. I speak no more: the general fate be mine! ETEOCLES. I take that word as wiser than the rest. Nay, more: these images possess thy will— Pray, in their strength, that Heaven be on our side! Then hear my prayers withal, and then ring out The female triumph-note, thy privilege— Yea, utter forth the usage Hellas knows, The cry beside the altars, sounding clear Encouragement to friends, alarm to foes. But I unto all gods that guard our walls, Lords of the plain or warders of the mart And to Isthmus’ stream and Dirge’s rills, I swear, if Fortune smiles and saves our town, That we will make our altars reek with blood Of sheep and kine, shed forth unto the gods, And with victorious tokens front our fannies— Corsets and cases that once our foemen wore, Spear-shattered now—to deck these holy homes! Be such thy vows to Heaven—away with sighs, Away with outcry vain and barbarous, That shall avail not, in a general doom! But I will back, and, with six chosen men Myself the seventh, to confront the foe In this great aspect of a poisèd war, Return and plant them at the sevenfold gates, Or e’er the prompt and clamorous battle-scouts Haste to inflame our counsel with the need. [_Exit ETEOCLES._]