Surely, my father, 'tis a glorious spring

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Drawn from the heaven-kissed summits whence we come;

And shall we, then, defile our noble blood

By mixture with this upstart tyranny

Which fouls the Hellenic pureness of its source

In countless bastard channels? If our State

Ask of its children sacrifice, 'tis well.

It shall be given; only I prithee, father,

Seek not that I should with barbaric blood

Taint the pure stream, which flows from Pericles.

Let me abide unwedded, if I may,

A Greek girl as before.

Lama.

Daughter, thy choice

Is free as air to accept or to reject

This suitor; only, in the name of Cherson,

Do nothing rashly, and meanwhile take care

That nought that fits a Grecian State be wanting

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