56
Nay, by thy knees, by every prayer,
We all invoke thee, oh forbear:
Thou shalt not slay thy sons: forbear.
Antistrophe II.
And how then couldst thou ever find
Force in thy hand, thy heart, thy mind, 855 (856)
Against thy sons, thine own, to wreak
The dreadful vengeance thou dost seek?
And how, if but a moment long
Upon thy sons thy glance should wait,
Wilt thou indeed continue strong 860 (861)
And tearless to fulfil their fate?
It is not thine, not possibly,
When at thy feet the children cry
In their life-blood thy fell hand to dye.
Jason.
Summoned, I come. For, though thou'rt rancourous, 865 (866)
Thou shalt not fail of this, but I will hear,
Lady, what new boon thou wouldst have of me.
