With these words he sought a sword; for he was unarmed on account of his complete reliance upon his son. But that too was not wanting; long beforehand, that too had been provided by me and left behind for the bold deed that was to come. So, withdrawing the sword from the victim, plucking it from the wound, he said: “A little while ago you gave me death; now give me repose, Osword. Come to console a mourning father; lighten the task of an aged hand beset by adversity; let my blood; be tyrant-slayer to me; quit me of my woe. Had I but encountered you first! had I but inverted the order of deaths! I should have perished; but simply as tyrant—but thinking still that I should have an avenger, while now I die as one who is childless, as one who can hardly so much as find a man to take his life!” Thereupon he hastened his despatch, trembling, incapable, craving it, to be sure, but lacking the strength to serve his bold purpose.