AI. He sits within, dear lady, to my joy,
Bound; for I mean him not just yet to die.
ATH. What fine advantage wouldst thou first achieve?
AI. First, tie him to a pillar of my hall—
ATH. Poor wretch! What torment wilt thou wreak on him?
AI. Then stain his back with scourging till he die.
ATH. Nay, ’tis too much. Poor caitiff! Not the scourge!
AI. Pallas, in all things else have thou thy will,
But none shall wrest Odysseus from this doom.
ATH. Well, since thou art determined on the deed,
Spare nought of thine intent: indulge thy hand!
AI. (waving the bloody scourge.)
I go! But thou, I charge thee, let thine aid
Be evermore like valiant as to-day.[Exit
ATH. The gods are strong, Odysseus. Dost thou see?
What man than Aias was more provident,
Or who for timeliest action more approved?