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Ay, let them laugh and revel o’er his fall!
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Perchance, albeit in life they missed him not,
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Dead, they will cry for him in straits of war.
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For dullards know not goodness in their hand,
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Nor prize the jewel till ’tis cast away.
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To me more bitter than to them ’twas sweet,
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His death to him was gladsome, for he found
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The lot he longed for, his self-chosen doom.
What cause have they to laugh? Heaven, not their crew,
Hath glory by his death. Then let Odysseus
Insult with empty pride. To him and his
Aias is nothing; but to me, to me,
He leaves distress and sorrow in his room!
Ajax. Sophocles. Lewis Campbell (Translator). London, New York and Toronto. 1906.