My whetted will thy words may never blunt.
Chorus.
Why rush on danger? Victory’s sure without thee.
Eteocles.
So speak to slaves; a soldier may not hear thee.
Chorus.
But brother’s blood—pluck not the bloody blossom.
Eteocles.
If gods are just, he shall not ’scape from harm. [Exit.
CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.