Mess. [*]Yea, it lays low the whole ill-fated race.
Chor. These things give cause for gladness and for tears,
810
Seeing that our city prospers, and our lords,
The generals twain, with well-wrought Skythian steel,
Have shared between them all their store of goods,
And now shall have their portion in a grave,
Borne on, as spake their father's grievous curse.[[124]]
Mess. [The city's saved, but of the brother-kings
The earth has drunk the blood, each slain by each.]