CH.  Teleutas’ child! we shudder at thy tale
That fatal frenzy wastes our hero’s soul.

AIAS (within).  Woe’s me, me, me!

TEC.  More cause anon!  Hear ye not Aias there,
How sharp the cry that shrills from him?

AI.  Woe!  Woe!

CH.  Madly it sounds—­Or springs it of deep grief
For proofs of madness harrowing to his eye?

AI.  Boy, boy!

TEC.  What means he?  Oh, Eurysakes! 
He cries on thee.  Where art thou?  O my heart!

AI.  Teucer I call!  Where ’s Teucer?  Will he ne’er
Come from the chase, but leave me to my doom?

CH.  Not madness now.  Disclose him.  Let us look. 
Haply the sight of us may calm his soul.

TEC.  There, then; I open to your view the form
Of Aias, and his fortunes as they are. [AIAS is discovered

AI.  Dear comrades of the deep, whose truth and love I 1
    Stand forth alone unbroken in my woe,
        Behold what gory sea
        Of storm-lashed agony
    Doth round and round me flow!

CH. (to TEC.) Too true thy witness:  for the fact cries out
Wild thoughts were here and Reason’s lamp extinct.

AI.  Strong helpers of sea-speed, whose nimble hand I 2
    Plied hither the salt oar with circling stroke,
        No shepherd there was found
        To give the avenging wound. 
    Come, lay me with the flock!

CH.  Speak no rash word! nor curing ill with ill
Augment the plague of this calamity.

AI.  Mark ye the brave and bold, II 1
        Whom none could turn of old,
    When once he set his face to the fierce fight? 
        Now beasts that thought no harm
        Have felt this puissant arm. 
    O laughter of my foes!  O mockery of my might!

TEC.  Aias, my lord!  I entreat thee, speak not so!

AI.  Thou here!  Away! begone, and trouble me not! 
O!  O!

CH.  Be softened! bear a steadier mind!

AI.  O heaven-accursed hand
      That let the ruffians go,
    But falling ’midst the horn’d and bleating band,
      Made darkling blood-streams flow!

CH.  Why vex thy heart with what is over and done? 
Do what we may, this ne’er will alter now.

AI.  Child of Laertes old, II 2
        Thou that dost still behold
    And still contrive all shapes of monstrous ill,
        Winding in foulest ways
        Through the army’s sinful maze,—­
    Now even for pleasure thou may’st laugh thy fill.

CH.  Laughter and tears are in the gift of God.

AI.  Ay, might I see him, though thus broken,—­ay me! 
Even yet—­

CH.  Nay, vaunt not.  Look where thou art fallen.

AI.  Source where my life-blood springs,
        O Zeus, might I but slay
    That crafty plague, with those twin-sceptred kings,
      Then breathe my life away!