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SCENE III
Before the Syrian hills. Antiochus' tent.
Antiochus, Thoas, Leosthenes, Philoctetes.
PHILOCTETES
This is Phayllus' work, the Syrian mongrel.
Who could have thought he'ld raise against us Greece
And half this Asia ?
ANTIOCHUS
He has a brain.
THOAS
We feel it.
This fight's our latest and one desperate chance
Still smiles upon our fate.
ANTIOCHUS
Nicanor yields it us,
Scattering his armies; for if we can seize,
Before he gathers in his distant strengths,
This middle pass, Antioch comes with it. So
I find it best and think the gods do well
Who put before us one decisive choice,
Not lingering out their vote in balanced urns,
Not tediously delaying strenuous fate, —
Either to conquer with one lion leap
Or end in glorious battle.
THOAS
We ask no better;
With you to triumph or die beside you taking
The din of joyous battle in our ears,
Following your steps into whatever world.
Page – 426
PHILOCTETES
Have we not strength enough to enforce retreat
Like our forefathers through the Asian vasts
To Susa or the desert or the sea
Or Ptolemy in Egypt, — thence returning
With force of foreign levies, if Phayllu?
Draw even the distant Roman over here,
Dispute with him the world?
ANTIOCHUS
No, Philoctetes.
With native swords I sought my native crown,
Which if I win not upon Syria's hills
A hero's death is mine. Make battle ready.
Our bodies are the dice we throw again
On the gods' table.
Page – 427
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