_Jocasta:_ Then lay thy hand upon the sword again, Bind on thy helmet, take again thy shield; And while thy brother doth his arms remove, Remain thou armed. [_To_ Eteocles.] Do thou lay by thy sword, Who first didst cause the weapon to be drawn. If peace is hateful to thee, if in war Thou dost prefer to rage, a moment's truce 485 Thy mother begs of thee, that on her sons, Returned but now from exile, she may print A kiss of love, the first--perchance the last. While I seek peace, attend ye both, unarmed. Dost thou fear him, and he fear thee, in turn? But I do fear you both, and for you both. Why dost refuse to sheathe thy naked sword? Rejoice in this delay. You wage a war, 490 Of which the best end is to be o'ercome. And dost thou fear thy hostile brother's wiles? If one must on his brother work deceit Or suffer it himself, 'tis better far To be the victim of the treachery Than to perform the crime. But fear thou not; 495 For I will shield thee from all sudden snares. Do I prevail with thee? Or must I grudge Thy father's blindness? Have I hither come To check an impious crime, or see it done Before my very eyes? [Eteocles _yields to her_.] He sheathes his sword, And on his peaceful, grounded spear he leans. [_She turns to_ Polynices.] And now to thee, O son, thy mother turns 500 With prayers and tears. At last I see thy face Which long have I desired and prayed to see. Thee, as an exile from thy fatherland, The household of a foreign king protects; O'er many seas, by many chances driven, Thou'rt still a wanderer. It was not mine With stately train to lead thee to thy bride, 505 With my own hand to deck the festal halls, And with sacred fillets wreathe thy wedding torch. The father of thy bride no wedding gifts, No wealth of gold, has given, no fields, no towns; Thy only gift is war. A foeman's son 510 Hast thou become, far from thy native land, An alien household's guest, driven from thine own, Committed to another's interests, A sinless exile. That no element Might fail thee of thy father's hapless fate, Thou too hast blundered in thy marriage choice. O son, after so many years returned, 515 O son, thy anxious mother's hope and fear, For sight of whom I ever prayed the gods; Though thy return was doomed to take from me As much as at thy coming it could give: "When shall I cease to fear for thee?" I said; 520 The mocking god replied: "Him shalt thou fear." I should not have thee near me now, indeed, Were there no war; and there would be no war,