With godless and unhospitable men,
One god-sent scourge must smite the whole, one net
Snare bad and good. Even so, Oïcleus’ son,
This sober, just, and good, and pious man,
This mighty prophet and soothsayer, he,
Leagued with the cause of bad and bold-mouthed men
In his own despite—so Jove hath willed—shall lead
Down to the distant city of the dead
The murky march with them. He will not even
Approach the walls, so I may justly judge.