THE PHŒNICIAN MAIDENS.
67
Jocasta.
Nought welcome. Follow me.
Antigone.
Whither, from maiden-bowers?
Jocasta.
To the host.1275
Antigone.
I shrink from throngs!
Jocasta.
Shamefastness cannot help thee!
Antigone.
I—what can I do?
Jocasta.
Part thy brethren's strife.
Antigone.
Mother, whereby?
Jocasta.
Fall at their feet with me.
Antigone.
Lead to the mid-space! We may tarry not.
Jocasta.
Haste, daughter, haste : for, may I but forestall1280
