Ch. I am afraid when I mark this eager haste: I like not the keen edge of thy speech.
Te. Ajax, my lord, on what deed can thy mind be set?
Aj. Ask not, inquire not; 'tis good to be discreet.
Te. Ah, my heavy heart! Now, by thy child,—by the gods,—I implore thee, be not guilty of forsaking us!
Aj. Nay, thou vexest me over much: knowest thou not that I no longer owe aught of service to the gods?590
Te. Hush, hush! Aj. Speak to those who hear.
Te. And wilt thou not hearken? Aj. Already thy words have been too many.
Te. I am afraid, O prince! Aj. (To the Attendants.) Close the doors, I say, this instant!
Te. For the gods' love, be softened! Aj. 'Tis a foolish hope, methinks, if thou wouldst begin now to school my temper.
[Ajax is shut into the tent.—Exit Tecmessa
with Eurysaces.
str. 1. Ch. O famous Salamis, thou, I ween, hast thy happy seat among the waves that lash thy shore, the joy of all men's eyes for ever;600 but I, hapless, have long been tarrying here, still making my couch, through countless months, in the camp on the fields of Ida,—worn by time, and darkly looking for the day when I shall pass to Hades, the abhorred, the unseen.
