King. How then to you may I act reverently?
Chor. Yield us not up unto Ægyptos' sons.
King. Hard boon thou ask'st, to wage so strange a war.
Chor. Nay, Justice champions those who fight with her.
King. Yes, if her hand was in it from the first.
Chor. Yet reverence thou the state-ship's stern thus wreathed.[[235]]
King. I tremble as I see these seats thus shadowed.
340
Strophe I
Chor. Dread is the wrath of Zeus, the God of suppliants: