I.

Boast as thou wilt, and urge thy proud demand, This nation disregards thy ire, Thou stranger from the Argive land. Nor can thy sounding words control The steadfast purpose of my soul: Great Athens, by her lovely choir Distinguished, shall unstained preserve Her ancient glory, nor from virtue swerve; But thou, devoid of wisdom, dost obey The son of Sthenelus, the tyrant’s impious sway,