_Chor._ A curse on him who 'gainst our city boasts!
May thunder smite him down 450
Before he force his way
Into my home, and drive
Me from my maiden bower with haughty spear?
_Mess._ And now I'll tell of him who by the gates
Stands next; for to Eteocles, as third,
To march his cohort to Neïstian gates,
Leaped the third lot from upturned brazen helm:
And he his mares, in head-gear snorting, whirls,
Full eager at the gates to fall and die;
Their whistling nozzles of barbaric mode,
Are filled with loud blast of the panting nostrils.[99]
In no poor fashion is his shield devised; 460
A full-armed warrior climbs a ladder's rungs,
And mounts his foeman's towers as bent to sack;
And he too cries, in words of written speech,
That “NOT E'EN ARES FROM THE TOWERS SHALL DRIVE HIM.”
Send thou against him some defender true,
To ward the yoke of bondage from our State.
_Eteoc._ Such would I send now; by good luck indeed
He has been sent, his vaunting in his deeds,
Megareus, Creon's son, who claims descent
From those as Sparti known, and not by noise
Of neighings loud of warlike steeds dismayed, 470
Will he the gates abandon, but in death
Will pay our land his nurture's debt in full,[100]
Or taking two men, and a town to boot,
(That on the shield,) will deck his father's house
With those his trophies. Of another tell
The bragging tale, nor grudge thy words to me.