TEC
His own, ’tis manifest. This planted steel,
Fixed by his hand, gives verdict from his breast.
Woe for my fault, my loss!
Thou hast fallen in blood alone,
And not a friend to cross
Or guard thee. I, deaf, senseless as a stone,
Left all undone. Oh, where, then, lies the stern
Aias, of saddest name, whose purpose none might turn?
Ajax. Sophocles. Lewis Campbell (Translator). London, New York and Toronto. 1906.