Eteocles monologue — Four Plays of Aeschylus

Ah, may they meet the doom they think to bring— They and their impious vaunts—from those on high! So should they sink, hurled down to deepest death! This foe, at least, by thee Arcadian styled, Is faced by one who bears no braggart sign, But his hand sees to smite, where blows avail— Actor, own brother to Hyperbius! He will not let a boast without a blow Stream through our gates and nourish our despair, Nor give him way who on his hostile shield Bears the brute image of the loathly Sphinx! Blocked at the gate, she will rebuke the man Who strives to thrust her forward, when she feels Thick crash of blows, up to the city wall. With Heaven’s goodwill, my forecast shall be true.