Orestes

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.

  1. Before you I prostrate myself, lord, and supplicate you in my foreign way.
Orestes
  1. We are not in Ilium, but the land of Argos.
Phrygian
  1. Everywhere, the wise find life sweeter than death.
Orestes
  1. I suppose that shouting of yours was not for Menelaus to come to the rescue?
Phrygian
  1. Oh no! it was to help you I called out, for you are more deserving.
Orestes
  1. Did the daughter of Tyndareus die justly, then?
Phrygian
  1. Most justly, even if she had three throats to die with.
Orestes
  1. Your cowardice makes you glib; this is not what you really think.
Phrygian
  1. Why, surely she deserved it, the one who destroyed Hellas and the Phrygians too?
Orestes
  1. Swear you are not saying this to humor me, or I will kill you.
Phrygian
  1. I swear by my life, an oath I would keep!
Orestes
  1. Did every Phrygian in Troy show the same terror of steel as you do?
Phrygian
  1. Take your sword away! Held so near it flashes a dreadful gleam of blood.
Orestes
  1. Are you afraid of being turned to a stone, as if you had seen a Gorgon?
Phrygian
  1. To a stone, no! but to a corpse; I don’t know this Gorgon’s head.
Orestes
  1. A slave, and yet you fear death, which will release you from trouble?
Phrygian
  1. Slave or free, every one is glad to gaze upon the light.
Orestes
  1. Well said! Your shrewdness saves you; go inside.
Phrygian
  1. You will not kill me after all?
Orestes
  1. You are spared.