Aeschylus and Sophocles

Sophocles : I did indeed drive off the pest of fliesWe also have our pest of them which buzAbout our honey, darken it, and sting ;We laugh at them, for under hands like ours,Without the wing that Philoctetes shook,One single feather crushes the whole swarm.

I must be grave.Hath Sicily such charmsAbove our Athens ? Many charms hath she,But she hath kings. Accursed be the race !

Aeschylos : But where kings honor better men than theyLet kings be honored too.The laurel crownSurmounts the golden ; wear it, and farewell.