Danaus monologue — Four Plays of Aeschylus

Children, be wary—wary he with whom Ye come, your trusty sire and steersman old: And that same caution hold I here on land, And bid you hoard my words, inscribing them On memory’s tablets. Lo, I see afar Dust, voiceless herald of a host, arise; And hark, within their grinding sockets ring Axles of hurrying wheels! I see approach, Borne in curved cars, by speeding horses drawn, A speared and shielded band. The chiefs, perchance, Of this their land are hitherward intent To look on us, of whom they yet have heard By messengers alone. But come who may, And come he peaceful or in ravening wrath Spurred on his path, ’twere best, in any case, Damsels, to cling unto this altar-mound Made sacred to their gods of festival,— A shrine is stronger than a tower to save, A shield that none may cleave. Step swift thereto, And in your left hands hold with reverence The white-crowned wands of suppliance, the sign Beloved of Zeus, compassion’s lord, and speak To those that question you, words meek and low And piteous, as beseems your stranger state, Clearly avowing of this flight of yours The bloodless cause; and on your utterance See to it well that modesty attend; From downcast eyes, from brows of pure control, Let chastity look forth; nor, when ye speak, Be voluble nor eager—they that dwell Within this land are sternly swift to chide. And be your words submissive: heed this well; For weak ye are, outcasts on stranger lands, And froward talk beseems not strengthless hands.