Xer. Too true. Yea I and that vast host of mine
Are smitten down.
Chor. Too true—the Persians' majesty and might
Have perished utterly.
Xer. See'st thou this remnant of my armament?
Chor. I see it, yea, I see.
1000
Xer. (pointing to his quiver.) Dost see thou that
which arrows wont to hold?...
Chor. What speak'st thou of as saved?