Chorus
—You sons of Earth, whom Ares once sowed, when from the dragon's ravening jaw he had torn the teeth, up with your staves, on which you lean your hands,
[255]
and dash out this villain's brains! a fellow who, without even being a Theban, but a foreigner, lords it shamefully over the younger men; but my master shall you never be to your joy.
—Nor shall you reap the harvest of all my toil;
[260]
Go back to where you came from, in your insolence. For never while I live, shall you slay these sons of Heracles; not so deep beneath the earth has their father disappeared from his children's ken.
—You are in possession of this land which you have ruined,
[265]
while he, its benefactor, has missed his just reward.
—And yet do I take too much upon myself because I help those I love after their death, when most they need a friend?
—Ah! right hand, how you desire to wield the spear, but your weakness is a death-blow to your desire.
[270]
For then I would have stopped you calling me slave, and I would have governed Thebes with credit. In which you now rejoice; for a city sick with dissension and evil counsels does not think aright; otherwise it would never have accepted you as its master.