Thus will they prate, and hard will be my lot,

But on thy race and thee how foul a slur.

Take pity and bethink thee of the sire

Thou leavest, an old man, disconsolate;

Bethink thee of thy mother bowed with years,

Think of her prayers and vows for thy return.

And, O my lord, take pity on thy son,

Orphaned, without a father’s fostering care,

The ward of loveless guardians; if thou die,

What heritage of woe is his and mine!

For I have naught to look to anywhere

Save thee. By thee my country was laid waste,

My mother and my father too were snatched

To dwell with Hades by another fate.

What home is left me then, if thou art ta’en?

What weal? my welfare is bound up in thee.

Think of me also: gratitude is due

From man for favours that a woman gives.

Kindness return of kindness e’er begets.

Who lets the memory of service pass

Him will I ne’er with noble spirits rank.

Ajax, I would that thou wert moved as I

To pity; then wouldst thou approve her rede.

Yea, and my full approval she shall win,

If only she take heart to do my hest.

Aye, my dear lord, I will obey in all.