The Spy monologue — Four Plays of Aeschylus

I will say on. Eteoclus is third— To him it fell, what time the third lot sprang O’er the inverted helmet’s brazen rim, To dash his stormers on Neistae gate. He wheels his mares, who at their frontlets chafe And yearn to charge upon the gates amain. They snort the breath of pride, and, filled therewith, Their nozzles whistle with barbaric sound. High too and haughty is his shield’s device— An armèd man who climbs, from rung to rung, A scaling ladder, up a hostile wall, Afire to sack and slay; and he too cries, (By letters, full of sound, upon the shield) _Not Ares’ self shall cast me from the wall_. Look to it, send, against this man, a man Strong to debar the slave’s yoke from our town.