lamentations? To my own heart it goes. Raise thy silvered head, weep not where thou sittest at the holy altar of Demeter.
Æth. Ah woe!
The. Tis not for thee their sorrows to lament.
Æth. Ye hapless dames!
The. Thou art not of their company.
Æth. May I a scheme declare, my son, that shall add to thy glory and the state's?
The. Yea, for oft even from women's lips issue wise counsels.
Æth. Yet the word, that lurks within my heart, makes me hesitate.
The. Shame! to hide from friends good counsel.
Æth. Nay then, I will not hold my peace to blame myself hereafter for having now kept silence to my shame, nor will I forego my honourable proposal, from the common fear that it is useless for women to give good advice. First, my son, I exhort thee give good heed to heaven's will, lest from slighting it thou suffer shipwreck; [[1] for in this one single point thou failest, though well-advised in all else.] Further, I would have patiently endured, had it not been my duty to venture somewhat for injured folk; and this, my son, it is that brings thee now thy honour, and causes me no fear to urge that thou shouldst use[2] thy power to make men of violence, who prevent the dead from receiving their meed of burial and funeral rites, perform this bounden duty, and check those who would confound the customs of all Hellas; for this it is that holds men's states together, strict observance of the laws. And some, no doubt, will say, 'twas cowardice made thee stand aloof in terror, when thou mightest have won for thy city a crown of glory, and, though thou didst encounter a savage swine,[3] labouring for a sorry
