Read ye to me his name—upon mine inmost heart ’tis writ—
Archestratus’ son, he who won the Olympian victory:
I owe him a sweet triumph-song—I had forgotten it!
At last, O Muse, and thou, O Truth, the child of Zeus most high,
Do ye with your atoning hands make of the offence an end:
Blot out the stain of broken troth, the sin against a friend!