Ion (233a-256)

Lady, whosoe’er thou art, I see thou art of noble birth, and thy bearing proves thy gentle breeding. For from his bearing one may mostly judge

whether a man is nobly born. Yet am I much amazed to see thee close thine eyes in grief and with tears bedew thy noble face, when thou standest face to face with the holy oracle of Loxias. Why, lady, art thou thus disquieted?

Here, where all others show their joy at sight of Phoebus’ sanctuary, thine eye is wet with tears.

Most courteously, sir stranger, dost thou express surprise at these my tears; the sight of this temple of Apollo

recalled to me a memory of long ago, and somehow my thoughts went wandering home, though I am here myself. Ah, hapless race of women! ah, ye reckless gods! What shall I say? to what standard shall we refer justice if through the injustice of our lords and masters we are brought to ruin?

Why, lady, art thou thus cast down, past all finding out?

’Tis naught; I have shot my bolt; for what remains, I say no more, nor seek thou further to inquire.