Such sorrows to unfold thee,
My powerless lips refuse me.
Darius.
Since the ancient reverence holds thee, and enchains thy mind, to thee
I will speak, the aged partner of my bed, my high-born spouse.
Cease thy weepings and thy waitings; tell me what mischance hath hapt.
’Tis most human that mischances come to mortal man, not few
Woes by seas, not few by land, if the Fates prolong his span.
Atossa.
O all men in bliss surpassing while thine eyes beheld the day,