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Translated by R. Potter.
104 pages - You are on Page 34 Ion: Off, touch me not; thy hands Will mar the garlands of the god. Xuthus: My touch Asserts no pledge: my own, and that most dear, I find. Ion: Wilt thou not keep thee distant, ere Thou hast my arrow in thy heart? Xuthus: Why fly me, When thou shouldst own what is most fond of thee? Ion: I am not fond of curing wayward strangers, And madmen. Xuthus: Kill me, raise my funeral pyre; But, if thou kill me, thou wilt kill thy father. Ion: My father thou! how so? it makes me laugh To hear thee. Previous Page / First / Next Page of Ion
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