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Translated by R. Potter.
104 pages - You are on Page 91 Ion: Thy friend! Yet wouldst thou kill me secretly. Creusa: My son: if that to parents is most dear. Ion: Forbear thy wiles; I shall refute them well. Creusa: Might I but to come to what I wish, my son! Ion: Is this vase empty, or contains it aught? Creusa: Thy infant vests, in which I once exposed thee. Ion: And wilt thou name them to me, ere thou see them? Creusa: If I recount them not, be death my meed. Ion: Speak then: thy confidence hath something strange. Previous Page / First / Next Page of Ion
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