Heracles
Euripides
Euripides. The Plays of Euripides, Translated into English Prose from the Text of Paley. Vol. II. Coleridge, Edward P., translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1891.
- Peace! give your hand to a friend and helper.
- No, let me not wipe off the blood upon your robe.
- Wipe it off and spare not; I will not refuse you.
- Bereft of my own sons, I find you as a son to me.
- Throw your arm about my neck; I will be your guide.
- A pair of friends indeed, but one a man of sorrows. Ah! aged father, this is the kind of man to make a friend.
- Blessed in her sons, the country that gave him birth!
- Theseus, turn me back again to see my children.
- What for? Do you think to find a drug in this to soothe your soul?
- I long to do so, and would embrace my father.
- Here am I, my son; your wish is no less dear to me.
- Have you so short a memory for your troubles?
- All that I endured before was easier to bear than this.
- If anyone sees you play the woman, they will scoff.
- Have I by living grown so abject in your sight? It was not so once, I think.
- Yes, too much so; in your sickness you are not the glorious Heracles.
- What about you? What kind of hero were you when in trouble in the world below?
- I was worse than anyone as far as courage went.
- How then can you say of me, that I am abased by my troubles?
- Forward!