Chorus: (chanting) Not yet hast thou paid the penalty, but maybe
thou yet wilt; like one who slips and falls into the surge with no
haven near, so shalt thou lose thy own life for the life thou hast
taken. For where the rights of justice and the law of heaven are one,
there is ruin fraught with death and doom. Thy hopes of this journey
shall cheat thee, for it hath led thee, unhappy wretch! to the halls
of death; and to no warrior's hand shalt thou resign thy life.
Polymestor: (within the tent) O horror! I am blinded of the light
of my eyes, ah me!
Leader of the Chorus: Heard ye, friends, that Thracian's cry of woe?
Polymestor: (within) O horror! horror! my children! O the cruel blow.
Leader: Friends, new ills are brought to pass in yonder tent.
Polymestor: (within) Nay, ye shall never escape for all your hurried
flight; for with my fist will I burst open the inmost recesses of
this hall.
Studies
