Cop. That shalt thou soon learn; it seems thou wert a poor prophet, after all, in this.
Iol. This shall never happen while I live.
Cop. Begone! for I will take them hence, for all thy refusals, for I hold[1] that they belong to Eurystheus, as they do indeed.
Iol. Help, ye who long have had your home in Athens! we suppliants at Zeus' altar in your market-place are being haled by force away, our sacred wreaths defiled, shame to your city, to the gods dishonour.
Cho. Hark, hark! What cry is this that rises near the altar? At once explain the nature of the trouble.
Iol. See this aged frame hurled in its feebleness upon the ground! Woe is me!
Cho. Who threw thee down thus pitiably?
Iol. Behold the man who flouts your gods, kind sirs, and tries by force to drag me from my seat before the altar of Zeus.
Cho. From what land, old stranger, art thou come to this confederate state of four cities? or have ye left Eubœa's cliffs, and, with the oar that sweeps the sea, put in here from across the firth?[2]
Iol. Sirs, no island life I lead, but from Mycenæ to thy land I come.
Cho. What do they call thee, aged sir, those folk in Mycenæ?
Iol. Maybe ye have heard of Iolaus, the comrade of Heracles, for he was not unknown to fame.
Cho. Yea, I have heard of him in bygone days; but tell me, whose are the tender boys thou bearest in thine arms?
Iol. These, sirs, are the sons of Heracles, come as suppliants to you and your city.
