Xut. Among the frantic votaries of Bacchus.
Ion. Wert thou sober, or in thy cups?
Xut. I had indulged in the pleasures of the wine-cup.
Ion. That is just the history of my birth.
Xut. Fate hath discovered thee, my son.
Ion. How came I to the temple?
Xut. Maybe the maid exposed thee.
Ion. I have escaped the shame of slavish birth.
Xut. Acknowledge then thy father, my son.
Ion. It is not right that I should mistrust the god.
Xut. Thou art right there.
Ion. What more can I desire
Xut. Thine eyes now open to the sights they should.
Ion. Than from a son of Zeus to spring?
Xut. Which is indeed thy lot.
Ion. May I embrace the author of my being?
Xut. Aye, put thy trust in the god.
Ion. Hail to thee, father mine.
Xut. With joy that title I accept.
Ion. This day
Xut. Hath made me blest.
Ion. Ah, mother dear! shall I ever see thee too? Now more than ever do I long to gaze upon thee, whoe'er thou art. But thou perhaps art dead, and I shall never have the chance.
Cho. We share the good luck of thy house; but still I could have wished my mistress too, and Erechtheus' line? had been blest with children.
Xut. My son, albeit the god hath for thy discovery brought his oracle to a true issue, and united thee to me, while thou, too, hast found what most thou dost desire, till now unconscious of it; still, as touching this anxiety so proper in thee, I feel an equal yearning that thou, my child, mayst find thy mother, and I the wife that bare thee unto me. Maybe we shall discover this, if we leave it to time. But now
