IOL. ’Tis he, O stranger, he who to your gods
Yielding no reverence, strives with impious force
E’en now, to drag me from this hallowed seat
Before Jove’s altar.
CHOR. He! But from what land
Cam’st thou, old man, to this confederate state
Formed of four cities? From the distant coast
Of steep Eubœa did ye ply your oars?
IOL. The life I lead, O stranger, is not that
Of vagrant islanders; but in your realm
From famed Mycene’s bulwarks I arrive.
CHOR. Among thy countrymen, old man, what name
Thou bear’st, inform me.
IOL. Ye perchance knew somewhat
Of Iolaus, great Alcides’ comrade,
A name not quite unnoticed by renown.
CHOR. I formerly have heard of him: but say
Who is the father of that infant race,
Whom with thy arm thou guid’st?
IOL. These are the sons
Of Hercules, O strangers, they, to you,
And to your city, humble suppliants come.
CHOR. On what account, inform me; to demand
An audience of the state?
IOL. That to their foes
They may not be surrendered up, nor torn
Forcibly from the altars of your gods,
And carried back to Argos.
COP. But thy lords
Who bear rule over thee, and hither trace
Thy steps, will ne’er be satisfied with this.
CHOR. O stranger, ’tis our duty to revere
The suppliants of the gods: with forceful hand
Shall no man drag thee from this holy spot,
This seat of the immortal powers; dread justice
Shall guard thee from the wrong.
COP. Out of your land
The vagrant subjects of Eurystheus drive,
As I admonish; and this hand shall use
No violence.
CHOR. How impious is that city
Which disregards the helpless stranger’s prayer!
COP. ’Twere best to interfere not in these broils,
And to adopt some more expedient counsels.
CHOR. You, therefore, to the monarch of this realm
Should have declared your errand, ere thus far
You had proceeded: but with brutal force
These strangers from the altars of the gods
Presume not to convey, and to this land
Of freedom yield due reverence.
COP. But what king
Rules this domain and city?
CHOR. Theseus’ son,
Renowned Demophoon.
COP. Better I with him
This contest could decide: for all I yet
Have spoken, is but a mere waste of words.
CHOR. Behold, he hither comes in haste, and with him,
To hear this cause, his brother Acamas.