Chor. I dread thy wish to grant,
[*]I dread to say thee nay,[[51]]
Saying things that it is hard for friends to speak.
Dar. Nay, then, since that old dread of thine prevents thee,
Do thou [to Atossa], the ancient partner of my bed,
700
My noble queen, from these thy plaints and moanings
Cease, and say something clearly. Human sorrows
May well on mortals fall; for many evils,
Some on the sea, and some on dry land also,