Tecmessa
My lord, my master,
485
W^hich cruel fortune brings on human kind :
485
Of noblest race (a better, Phrygia boasts not)
485
Tecmessa was, and from a father sprung
485
Happy and free, though now a wretched slave ;
485
For so the gods and thy all-conqu'ring arm
485
Decreed : but since partaker of thy bed.
Thou knovv'st I ever have with tend'rest care
Watched o'er thee : therefore, by domestic Jove,
Here I entreat thee, by the sacred tie
That binds us, let me not with foul reproach
And bitter scorn be taunted by thy foes,
When they surround me, as I know they will :
For oh ! when thou shalt die, that very day
The Greeks with violence will seize on me ;
Tecmessa then and thy loved son shall eat
The bread of slavery. Then some haughty lord,
Insulting loud, shall cry, behold the wife
How is she fall'n ! from envied happiness
To servitude and woe ! Such vile upbraidings
Oft shall I hear, on thee and on thy race
Casting foul shame. Oh, then relent, my Ajax 1
Think on thy father in the vale of years,
Think on thy aged mother, who with vows
Incessant prays the gods to send thee back
Safe to thy native land ! Pity thy son,
Without a father in his tender youth
490
To form his mind, left to the unfriendly hands
490
Of those who love him not. Alas ! what woes
490
Wilt thou bequeath to me and to tliy child !
490
I have no hope, no stay but thee alone.
490
Thy hand destroyed my country and my mother ;
Death snatched my father to the realms below.
Deprived of thee what country will receive me,
Or where shall I subsist ? Thou art my all,
My only safeguard : do not, do not leave me !
Nought so becomes a man as gratitude
For good received, and noble deeds are still
The offspring of benevolence, whilst he
With whom remembrance dies of blessings past
Is vile and worthless.
Ajax. Sophocles. Thomas Francklin (Translator). London. 1758–1759.