Tecmessa (cont.)
To sit with folded hands; I too will go,
So far as this weak frame allows, in search.
Up, quick, to work! no moment must be lost,
If we would save a man who hastes to death.
Chorus
Ready am I; not words alone shall prove,
But speed of act and foot, my readiness.
Exeunt Ajax alone on the sea-shore, planting his sword in the ground.
Ajax
The slayer standeth where his stroke is sure—
If I have time to muse thus curiously—
The gift of Hector erst my foeman-friend,
The man most hateful to my soul and sight,
Now fixed in foemen’s land, the land of Troy;
Fresh edged upon the iron-fretting stone,
Here have I planted it and set it fast,
A friend to help me to a speedy death.
My part is done; for what remains, O Zeus,
First I invoke thine aid; and claim my due;
’Tis no excessive boon I shall demand.
I pray thee send some messenger to bear
To Teucer the sad tale, that he may come
To lift me where I lie a bleeding corpse,
Fallen on this gory sword, lest I be first
Discovered by some enemy and cast forth,
A prey to dogs and birds. Thus much, O Zeus,
I crave of thee; and Hermes I invoke,
Born guide of spirits to the nether world,
To lay me soft to rest at one swift gasp,
Without a struggle, when into my side