Messenger.
Gone are the two youths, vanished clean from sight,
Gone, by the plots of Agamemnon's child, 1290
Fleeing from this land, taking with them hence
The holy statue in a Greek ship's hold.
Chorus.
Thy tale is past belief!—but the land's king,
Whom thou wouldst see, hath hurried forth the fane.
Messenger.
Whither?—for what is done he needs must know. 1295
Chorus.
We know not: go thou, hasten after him,
And, where thou findest him, make thy report.
Messenger.
Lo now, how treacherous is womankind!
Ye also are partakers in this deed.
Chorus.
Art mad? What is to us the strangers' flight? 1300
Away with all speed to thy master's gates.
Messenger.
Nay, not till I be certified of this,
Whether the land's lord be within or no.
What ho!—within there!—shoot the door-bolts back,
And to your master tell that at the gates 1305
Am I, who bear a burden of ill-news.
