ATH. Thou schem’st not idly. This is Aias’ deed.
OD. What can have roused him to a work so wild?
ATH. His grievous anger for Achilles’ arms.
OD. But wherefore on the flock this violent raid?
ATH. He thought to imbrue his hands with your heart’s blood.
OD. What? Was this planned against the Argives, then?
ATH. Planned, and performed, had I kept careless guard.
OD. What daring spirit, what hardihood, was here!
ATH. Alone by night in craft he sought your tents.
OD. How? Came he near them? Won he to his goal?