Chapter 15Scene 3

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

Rodogune The din of joyous battle in our ears, Following your steps into whatever world. 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 Phayllus 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.