Who strives, I hold him but a foolish man.
Since we must needs die, better 'tis to die
Not with fire roasted, yielding laughter-scoff 285
To foes, an evil worse than death to me.
Great is our debt of honour to our house:—
Thou hast been crowned with glorious battle-fame;
Thou canst not, must not, die a coward's death:
Nor any witness needs my glorious spouse 290
That he would not consent to save these sons
Stained with ill-fame: for fathers gently born
Are crushed beneath the load of children's shame.
My lord's example I cannot thrust from me.
Thine own hope—mark how lightly I esteem it: 295
Thou think'st, from the underworld thy son shall come;
Yet, of the dead, who hath returned from Hades?
Or might we appease this wretch with words, think'st thou?
Never!—of all foes must thou shun the churl.
To wise and nobly-nurtured foes give ground; 300
So thy submission may find chivalrous grace.
Even now methought, "What if we asked for these
The boon of exile?"—nay, 'twere misery
To give them life with wretched penury linked.
For upon exile-friends the eyes of hosts 305
Look kindly, say they, one day and no more.
Face death with us: it waits thee in any wise.
Thy noble blood I challenge, ancient friend.
Whoso with eager struggling would writhe out
From fate's net, folly is his eagerness. 310
For doom's decree shall no man disannul.
Chorus.
Had any outraged thee while yet mine arms
