And were’t their will Telemachus should die,
He that went forth to slay him is the man
Whose heart they turned to do it. For me, I say,
I willed it not, and think ’twill never be.
Ctes. Thou’rt but a craven!
Eur.Get ye to your seats:
Pass we the bowl in peace, and while we drink
Let Phemius soothe our rivalries with song.
But one can win the prize, and whose ’twill be
Lies in the lap of Zeus. Fair play and peace!