_Chor._ Nay, to the ancient forms
Of mighty Powers I rushed, as trusting Gods;
And when behind the gates
Was heard the crash of fierce and pelting storm, 200
Then was it, in my fear,
I prayed the Blessed Ones to guard our city.
_Eteoc._ Pray that our towns hold out 'gainst spear of foes.[88]
_Chor._ Do not the Gods grant these things?
_Eteoc._ Nay the Gods,
So say they, leave the captured city's walls.[89]