Rhesus

Euripides

Euripides. The Plays of Euripides, Translated into English Prose from the Text of Paley. Vol. I. Coleridge, Edward P., translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1906.

  1. Beware of what may happen; often fortune veers about.
Hector
  1. I loath the friend who brings his help too late.
  2. But let him, since he has arrived,
  3. come to our table not as an ally but as a guest;
  4. for the gratitude of Priam’s sons is forfeit in his case.
Chorus Leader
  1. O prince, to turn away allies earns hatred.
Messenger
  1. His mere appearance would cause a panic among the foe.
Hector
  1. You counsel rightly; you too take the proper view.
  2. Let Rhesus in his gilded armor join the allies of this land, thanks to the messenger’s report. Exit the Messenger.
Chorus
  1. May Nemesis, daughter of Zeus, check the word that may offend; for lo! I will utter all that it is dear
  2. to my soul to say. You have come, O son of the river god, you have come, welcome in your advent, to the halls of Friendship, since late in time your Pierian mother and Strymon, river with fair bridges,
  3. are sending you to us.
Chorus
  1. Strymon, who begot you, his strong young son, that day his swirling waters found a refuge in the tuneful Muse’s virgin bosom.
  2. You are my Zeus, my god of light, as you come driving your dappled horses. Now, O Phrygia, O my country, now may you by God’s grace address Zeus the Deliverer!
Chorus
  1. Shall old Troy once more at last spend the whole day in drinking toasts and singing love’s praise, while the bewildering wine-cup sends a capacious challenge round,
  2. as over the sea for Sparta the sons of Atreus quit the Ilian strand? O friend, with your arm and spear may you do me this service, then safe return.
Chorus
  1. Come, appear, brandish that shield of gold full in Achilles’ face; raise it aslant along the chariot’s branching rail, urging on your horses, and shaking your lance with double point.
  2. For none after facing you will ever join the dance on the plains of Argive Hera; no, but he shall die, slain by Thracians, and this land shall bear the burden of his corpse and be glad.
Chorus
  1. Hail, all hail! O mighty prince!
  2. fair the cub you have bred, 0 Thrace, a ruler in his every look. See his stalwart frame in golden corslet! Hark to the ringing bells that peal so proudly from his shield-handle.