[Eteocles yields to her.]
He sheathes his sword,
And on his peaceful, grounded spear he leans.
[She turns to Polynices.]
And now to thee, O son, thy mother turns500
With prayers and tears. At last I see thy face
Which long have I desired and prayed to see.
Thee, as an exile from thy fatherland,
The household of a foreign king protects;
O'er many seas, by many chances driven,