Teu. Ο best-loved Aias, brother dear to me,
Hast thou, then, fared so ill as rumour holds?
Chor. Our lord is dead, Ο Teucros, doubt it not.
Teu. Oh, woe is me! Woe for my grievous lot!980
Chor. At such a pass . . .
Teu. Oh, miserable me!
Chor. Thou well may'st groan.
Teu. Ο rash and ruthless death!
Chor. Too truly so, Ο Teucros.
Teu. Woe is me!
What of his child? Where in all Troïa is he?
Chor. Alone, within the tents.
Teu. Why bring ye not
With quickest speed the boy, lest any foe
Seize him, as whelp of lonely lioness?
Go, hasten, work together. All are wont
To treat with scorn the dead that prostrate lie.
Chor. And while he lived, Ο Teucros, thee he charged,990
For this his boy to care, as now thou car'st.
Teu. Sight of all sights most painful; of all paths
Path vexing most my spirit, this, which now
My feet have taken, where, Ο Aias dear,
Still following thee and tracking out thy course,
I learnt thy fate: for lo! a swift report,
As though some God had spread it, went of thee
Through all the Achæans, that thy death had come;
And I in woe, and hearing it far off,1000
Groaned low; and seeing, perish utterly.
Ah, me! [Some of the Chorus, as he speaks, uncover the body of Aias.
Come, lay it bare, that I may see it well,
The whole dread evil. Ο most ghastly sight,
And work of bitter daring, what a woe
