Euripides, Rhesus
Gilbert Murray, Ed.

THRACIAN.
Why threaten them? Art thou a Greek to blind
My barbarous wit so nimbly, in a wind
Of words? This work was thine. And no man's head
Is asked by us, the wounded and the dead,
Save thine. It needs more play, and better feigned,
To hide from me that thou hast slain thy friend
By craft, to steal his horses.-That is why
He stabs his friends. He prays them earnestly,
Prays them to come; they came and they are dead.
A cleaner man was Paris, when he fled
With his host's wife. He was no murderer.
Profess not thou that any Greek was there
To fall on us. What Greek could pass the screen
Of Trojan posts in front of us, unseen?
Thyself was stationed there, and all thy men.
What man of yours was slain or wounded when
Your Greek spies came? Not one; 'tis we, behind,
Are wounded, and some worse than wounded, blind
Forever to the sunlight. When we seek
Our vengeance, we shall go not to the Greek.
What stranger in that darkness could have trod
Straight to where Rhesus lay-unless some God
Pointed his path? They knew not, whispered not,
Rhesus had ever come. . . . 'Tis all a plot.

HECTOR (steadied and courteous again).
Good allies I have had since first the Greek
Set foot in Troy, and never heard them speak
Complaint of Hector. Thou wilt be the first.
I have not, by God's mercy, such a thirst
For horses as to murder for their sake.
He turns to his own men.
Odysseus! Yet again Odysseus! Take
All the Greek armies, is there one but he
Could have devised, or dared, this devilry?
I fear him; yea, fear in mine own despite,
Lest Dolon may have crossed him in the night
And perished; 'tis so long he cometh not.

THRACIAN.
I know not who Odysseus is, nor what.
I know it was no Greek that wounded us.

HECTOR.
To think thus pleasures thee? Well, have it thus.

THRACIAN.
Home, home! To die at home and rest my head!

HECTOR.
Nay, die not, friend. We have enough of dead.

THRACIAN.
How can I live? Lost, and my master slain.

HECTOR.
My house will shelter thee and heal thy pain.

THRACIAN.
Thy house? Will murderers' nursing give me peace?

HECTOR.
Still the same tale! This man will never cease.

THRACIAN.
My curse rest-not on Hector, but on those
Who stabbed us, as thou say'st.-Ah, Justice knows!¹

HECTOR.
There, lift him.-Bear him to my house. Take pains,
If care can do it, that the man complains
No more of Troy.-Ye others, bear withal
To Priam and the Elders of the Wall
My charge, that, where the cart-road from the plain
Branches, they make due burial for our slain.
One party of Guards lifts carefully the wounded THRACIAN and goes off bearing him: another departs with the message to Troy.