Tecmessa
Save him, my friends, oh save him; haste, prevent
This harsh necessity of fate: fly some
To Teucer, let him come with swiftest speed:
Along the winding shores some to the west,
Some to the orient sun direct your search,
And find th' ill-omen'd wand'rings of your lord.
I know he hath deceived me; I am sunk,
Ah me! an outcast from his former grace.
What shall I do, my son? Not linger here,
870
But go as far as I have strength to go.
870
Let us then go, my friends; yes, let us fly;
870
This no time to sit, if we could save
A man that rushes with such speed to die.
Ajax. Sophocles. Robert Potter (Translator). London. 1820.