Eteocles.
These be men's matters,—blood of sacrifice,
Offerings to oracles, when deedy war
Puts all things to the test; your business
Is submiss silence, and to bide within.
Chorus.
It is the Gods who keep yet unsubdued
The land wherein we dwell; our walléd town
Unravaged of this armed multitude:
Shall what we do then call their vengeance down?
Eteocles.
I grudge not that to the high heavenly race
Ye pay all honour: but, lest ye corrupt,
As cravens can, the manhood of the realm
Calm your wild transports; this is fear's excess.
Chorus.
The sudden girding on of warlike gear
Confused upon my startled senses came,
Confounding them the more; surprised by fear
I sought this castled crag of ancient fame.
Eteocles.
I charge ye, if they tell of wounds and death
Fasten not on the tale with frantic cries,
For human carnage is God Ares' meat.
Chorus.
I hear the neighing steeds!
Eteocles.
Hear if thou must!
Yet seem not so discernibly to hear!
