The harvest of the field of frenzied pride;
For either hath the godly man embarked
With sailors hot in insolence and guile,[[112]]
And perished with the race the Gods did loathe;
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Or just himself, with citizens who wrong
The stranger and are heedless of the Gods,
Falling most justly in the self-same snare,
By God's scourge smitten, shares the common doom.
And thus this seer I speak of, Œcleus' son,