Althaea
Son, first I praise thy prayer, then bid thee speed;
But the gods hear men’s hands before their lips,
And heed beyond all crying and sacrifice
Light of things done and noise of labouring men.
But thou, being armed and perfect for the deed,
Abide; for like rain-flakes in a wind they grow,
The men thy fellows, and the choice of the world,
Bound to root out the tusked plague, and leave
Thanks and safe days and peace in Calydon.