Cre. 'Tis all weak in that poor lady's case.
Ion. How should the god declare that which he wishes hidden?
Cre. He must, if here upon the tripod he sits for all Hellas to seek to.
Ion. He is ashamed of the deed; do not question him.
Cre. Aye, but his victim has her sorrows too.
Ion. There is none who will act as thy medium in this. For were Phœbus in his own temple proved a villain, he would justly wreak his vengeance on the man who expounded to thee his oracles; desist then, lady; we must not prophesy against the god's will, for it would be the height[1] of folly in us, were we to try and make the gods against their will declare reluctant truths either by sacrifice of sheep at their altars, or by omens from birds. For those answers we strive to extort from heaven, lady, are goods that bring no blessing on our getting; but what they freely offer, thereby we profit.
Cho. Many are the chances that befall the many tribes of men, and diverse are their forms. But scarce one happy scene canst thou find in all the life of man.
Cre. Ah! Phœbus, here as there, art thou unjust to that absent sufferer, whose cause I now am pleading. Thou didst not preserve thy child, as in duty bound, nor wilt thou, for all thy prophetic skill, answer his mother's questioning, that, if he be no more, a mound may be raised o'er him, or, if he live, he may some day be restored to his mother's eyes. In vain[2] is this the home of oracles if the god prevents me from learning what I wish to ask. But lo! I see my noble lord, Xuthus, nigh at hand, returning
