And, hapless, thou. Caught in a raging storm,
Thou hast come into a windless haven's calm.
Andromache.
The Gods reward thee, ancient, thee and thine, 750
Who hast saved my son and me the evil-starred!
Yet see to it, lest, where loneliest is the way,
These fall on us, and hale me thence by force,
Marking how thou art old, how I am weak,
This boy a babe: give thou heed unto this, 755
Lest, though we 'scape now, we be taken yet.
Peleus.
Out on thy words—a woman's faint-heart speech!
Pass on: whose hand shall stay you?—He shall rue
Who toucheth. By heaven's grace o'er hosts of horsemen
And countless men-at-arms I rule in Phthia. 760
I am yet unbowed, not old as thou dost think.
Yea, if I flash but a glance on such an one,
Shall I put him to rout, old though I be.
Stronger a stout-heart greybeard is than youths
Many: what boots a coward's burly bulk? 765
and Attendants.
Chorus.
(Str.)
Thou wert better unborn, save of noble fathers
Descended, in halls of the rich thou abide.
If the high-born have wrong, for his championing gathers 770
A host that shall strike on his side.
