Good fortune on thy chosen warder wait. Before the Electran gate stands Capaneus, Whose giant frame o'ertops e'en Tydeus' self. His vaunts are more than mortal, and he hurls Against our towers threats which may heaven forfend. Be it the will of heaven or not, he vows That he will storm this town, nor Zeus himself With red right hand shall scare him from his prey. Of lightnings or of thunderbolts he recks No more than of the rays of noonday sun. For his device he bears a naked man With burning torch in hand, whose legend says In golden letters, "I will fire this town." Bethink thee whom thou hast this chief to mate, Who without quailing will his vaunts withstand. ETEOCLES. Why, here we have gain added unto gain. When pride and folly in the heart abide, The tongue fails not their presence to betray. Capaneus threatens what his hand would do, Scorning the gods, and with unchastened lips, Madly exulting, vents against high heaven And heaven's high king his swelling blasphemies. Surely I trust that on his impious head The lightning shall be launched more fiery far Than are the rays of any noonday sun. To meet him with his braggart menaces Stout Polyphontus goes, a gallant soul, Who well can hold the post, so Artemis And all protecting gods his arm will aid. Tell us whose lot is at another gate. CHORUS. Perish the man who would lay low our towers; Smite him with lightning, kindly powers, Ere he can storm our home and spoil our virgin bowers. MESSENGER. Hear, then, who has his post at the next gate. Eteocles is his name, him the third lot, Forth from the brazen helmet leaping, set To lead his band against the Eastern gate. There to and fro he wheels his fiery steeds, That pant in their caparisons to charge The portal, and with snorting nostrils proud Make uncouth music through their mouth-pieces. Nor lowly the device upon his shield: A man-at-arms is on a ladder seen Scaling the wall of a beleaguered town, And underneath the vaunting legend dares Ares himself to beat back the assault. Against this champion you must bid go forth One that can save our town from slavery. ETEOCLES. He goes--is gone, with victory on his helm; A chief whose boasting is in deeds, not words, Megareus, of earth-born lineage, Creon's son. Him shall no snortings of impetuous steeds Scare from the gate, but either with his blood He will repay the earth that gave him life, Or both the warriors and the town to boot Bear off and with the spoils adorn his home. Give us some more vainglory; stint not speech. CHORUS. Good luck with him that guards my city go, Ill luck with the o'erweening foe. High is their boast; may Zeus, the avenger, lay them low. MESSENGER.