MESSENGER. Against the seventh gate the seventh chief Leads on the foe, thy brother Polynices; And fearful vows he makes, and fearful doom His prayers invoke. Mounted upon our walls, By herald's voice Thebes' rightful prince proclaimed, Shouting loud hymns of capture, hand to hand He vows to encounter thee, and either die Himself in killing thee, or should he live And spare thy recreant life, he will repay Like deed with like, and thou in turn shalt know Dishonouring exile. Thus he speaks and prays The family gods, and all the gods of Thebes, To aid his traitor suit. Upon his shield, New-forged, and nicely fitted to the hand, He bears this double blazonry--a woman Leading with sober pace an armed man All bossed in gold, and thus the superscription, "I, JUSTICE, BRING THIS INJURED EXILE BACK, TO CLAIM HIS PORTION IN HIS FATHER'S HALL." Such are the strange inventions of the foe. Choose thou a man that's fit to meet thy brother; Nor blame thy servant: what he saw he says: To helm the state through such rude storm be thine! ETEOCLES. O god-detested! god-bemadded race![n36] Woe-worthy sons of woe-worn Oedipus! Your father's curse is ripe! but tears are vain, And weeping might but mother worser woe. O Polynices! thy prophetic name Speaks more than all the emblems of thy shield; Soon shall we see if gold-bossed words can save thee, Babbling vain madness in a proud device. If Jove-born Justice, maid divine, might be Of thoughts and deeds like thine participant, Thou mightst have hope; but, Polynices, never, Or when the darkness of the mother's womb Thou first didst leave, or in thy nursling prime, Or in thy bloom of youth, or in the gathering Of beard on manhood's chin, hath Justice owned thee, Or known thy name; and shall she know thee now Thou leadst a stranger host against thy country? Her nature were a mockery of her name If she could fight for knaves, and still be Justice. In this faith strong, this traitor I will meet {281} Myself: the cause is mine, and I will fight it. For equal prince to prince, to brother brother, Fell foe to foe, suits well. And now to arms! Bring me my spear and shield, hauberk and greaves! [_Exit_ MESSENGER. CHORUS. Dear son of Oedipus! let not thy wrath Wax hot as his whom thou dost chiefly chide! Let the Cadméans with the Argives fight; This is enough: their blood may be atoned. But, when a brother falls by brother's hands, Age may not mellow such dark due of guilt. ETEOCLES. If thou canst bear an ill, and fear no shame, Bear it: but if to bear is to be base, Choose death, thy only refuge from disgrace. STROPHE IV. CHORUS. Whither wouldst thou? calm thy bosom, Tame the madness of thy blood; Ere it bear a crimson blossom, Pluck thy passion in the bud. ETEOCLES. Fate urges on; the god will have it so.[n37] Now drift the race of Laius, with full sail, Abhorred by Phœbus, down Cocytus' stream!