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Translated by E. Coleridge.
81 pages - You are on Page 16 Polyneices: Yet to gain our ends we must submit against our nature. Jocasta: Hope, they say, is the exile's food. Polyneices: Aye, hope that looks so fair; but she is ever in the future. Jocasta: But doth not time expose her futility? Polyneices: She hath a certain winsome charm in misfortune. Jocasta: Whence hadst thou means to live, ere thy marriage found it for thee? Polyneices: One while I had enough for the day, and then maybe I had it not. Jocasta: Did not thy father's friends and whilom guests assist thee? Previous Page / First / Next Page of Phoenissae
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