ÆPYTOS.
Mother, thy fears are idle; for I come
To close an old wound, not to open new.
In all else willing to be taught, in this
Instruct me not; I have my lesson clear.
Areas, seek out my uncle Laias, now
Conferring in the city with our friends;
Here bring him, ere the King come back from council.
That, how to accomplish what the Gods enjoin,
And the slow-ripening time at last prepares,
We two with thee, my mother, may consult;
For whose help dare I count on, if not thine?
MEROPE.
Approves my brother Laias this intent?
ÆPYTUS.
Yes, and alone is with me here to share.
MEROPE.
And what of thine Arcadian mate, who bears
Suspicion from thy grandsire of thy death,
For whom, as I suppose, thou passest here?
ÆPYTUS.
Sworn to our plot he is; if false surmise
Fix him the author of my death, I know not.
MEROPE.
Proof, not surmise, shows him in commerce close ——
