Captivity’s great sweep-net — one and allOf Até held in thrall!Ay, Zeus I fear — the guest’s friend great — who wasThe doer of this, and long since bentThe bow on Alexandros with intentThat neither wide o’ the whiteNor o’er the stars the foolish dart should light.

CHOROS.The stroke of Zeus — they have it, as men say!This, at least, from the source track forth we may!As he ordained, so has he done.No — said someone —The gods think fit to careNowise for mortals, suchAs those by whom the good and fairOf things denied their touchIs trampled! but he was profane.That they do care, has been made plainTo offspring of the over-bold,Outbreathing Ares greater than is just —Houses that spill with more than they can hold,