Urging the wrath of Jove, which else provoked
Would fatten on our woes, and the twin wrong
To you the stranger, and to them the city,
Pollution at their gate, a fuel to feed
Ills without end. These words the Argive people
Answered with suffragating hands, nor waited
The herald’s call to register their votes:
Just eloquence ruled their willing ear, and Jove
Crowned their fair purpose with the perfect deed. [Exit.
Chorus.