CHOROS.
Alas for mortal matters! Happy-fortuned, —
Why, any shade would turn them: if unhappy,
By throws the wetting sponge has spoiled the picture!
And more by much in mortals this I pity.
The being well-to-do —
Insatiate a desire of this
Born with all mortals is,
Nor any is there who
Well-being forces off, aroints
From roofs whereat a finger points,
No more come in! exclaiming. This man, too,
To take the city of Priamos did the celestials give,
1335
And, honoured by the god, he homeward comes;
But now if, of the former, he shall pay
The blood back, and, for those who ceased to live,
Dying, for deaths in turn new punishment he dooms—
1340
Who, being mortal, would not pray
With an unmischievous
Daimon to have been born — who would not, hearing thus?
Agamemnon. Aeschylus. London. 1889.
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