He is her glory. Any woman could say it. For every one of them, God is in her child. Mothers of great men must have this feeling particularly, but then, at the beginning, all women are mothers of great men -- it isn’t their fault if life disappoints them later.
[tr. Hayward & Harari (1958), UK ed.]

He is her glory. Every woman can say the same. Her god is in her child. Mothers of great people should be familiar with that feeling. But decidedly all mothers are mothers of great people, and it is not their fault that life later disappoints them.
[tr. Pevear & Volokhonsky (2010)]

His wretched Mother, like a Priestess,
Began the sacrifice; he threw the cawl
From his dishevel'd hair, that she her Son
Might recognise, nor in his gore imbrue
Her ruthless hands: he touch'd her cheeks and cried;
"I am, I am, O Mother, your own Son,
That Pentheus whom beneath Echion's roof
You bore, take pity on me then, nor slay
Your guilty child."
[tr. Wodhull (1809)]

His mother, as priestess, began the slaughter, and fell upon him. He threw the headband from his head so that the wretched Agave might recognize and not kill him. Touching her cheek, he said: “It is I, mother, your son, Pentheus, whom you bore in the house of Echion. Pity me, mother, and do not kill me, your child, for my sins.”
[tr. Buckley (1850)]

His mother first began the sacrifice,
And fell on him. His bonnet from his hair
He threw, that she might know and so not slay him,
The sad Agave. And he said, her cheek
Fondling, "I am thy child, thine own, my mother!
Pentheus, whom in Echion's house you bare.
Have mercy on me, mother! For his sins,
Whatever be his sins, kill not thy son."
[tr. Milman (1865)]

His mother first essayed the sacrifice
And fell on him: then from his hair he tore
The Phrygian bonnet, that Agave might
Know him and slay him not. Fondling her cheek
He said, I, mother, look, I am thy child,
Pentheus, born from thee in Echion's house;
Alas! my mother, do not kill thy son
For his transgression, pity take on me.
[tr. Rogers (1872), l. 1070ff]

His mother first, a priestess for the nonce, began the bloody deed and fell upon him; whereon he tore the snood from off his hair, that hapless Agave might recognize and spare him, crying as he touched her cheek, “O mother! it is I, thy own son Pentheus, the child thou didst bear in Echion’s halls; have pity on me, mother dear! oh! do not for any sin of mine slay thy own son.”
[tr. Coleridge (1891)]

His mother first, priest-like, began the slaughter,
And fell on him: but from his hair the coif ⁠
He tore, that she might know and slay him not, --
Hapless Agavê! -- and he touched her cheek,
Crying, "'Tis I -- O mother! -- thine own son
Pentheus -- thou bar'st me in Echion's halls!
Have mercy, O my mother! -- for my sin ⁠
Murder not thou thy son -- thy very son!"
[tr. Way (1898)]

'Twas his mother stood
O'er him, first priestess of those rites of blood.
He tore the coif, and from his head away
Flung it, that she might know him, and not slay
To her own misery. He touched the wild
Cheek, crying: "Mother, it is I, thy child,
Thy Pentheus, born thee in Echion's hall!
Have mercy, Mother! Let it not befall
Through sin of mine, that thou shouldst slay thy son!"
[tr. Murray (1902)]

His own mother,
like a priestess with her victim, fell upon him
first. But snatching off his wig and snood
so she would recognize his face, he touched her cheeks,
screaming, "No, no, Mother! I am Pentheus,
your own son, the child you bore to Echion!
Pity me, spare me, Mother! I have done a wrong,
but do not kill your own son for my offense."
[tr. Arrowsmith (1960)]

First his mother started the slaughter as priestess
and falls upon him; he hurled away the snood
from his hair, for the wretched Agaue to recognize
and not kill him -- and says, touching
her cheek, “Look, it is I, mother, your child
Pentheus, whom you bore in the house of Echion!
Take pity on me, mother, and do not by reason of my
errors murder your own child!”
[tr. Kirk (1970)]

First his mother, as priestess, began the ritual of death, and fell upon him. He tore off the headband from his hair, that his wretched mother might recognize him and not kill him. "Mother!" he cried, touching her cheek, "it is I, your son, Pentheus, whom you bore to Echion. O mother, have mercy on me; I have sinned, but I am your son: do not kill me!"
[tr. Vellacott (1973)]

His mother
First at the sacrifice of her own son
Fell upon him, angry priestess at the rites of death.
Pentheus, still miraculously alive, tore off wig
And snood, touched her face and hoped for recognition.
He mouthed a last despairing plea in silence, his voice
Broken from the fall.
[tr. Soyinka (1973)]

First came his mother, high priestess of the murder,
and fell upon him, while he threw the ribbon
from his hair so she might recognize him and not kill him,
poor Agave, touching her cheek and saying:
It’s me, mother, me, your son
Pentheus, whom you gave birth to in Echion’s house;
take pity on me, mother, and for my
trespassing do not kill your own son.
[tr. Neuburg (1988)]

His mother,
as priestess of the ritual killing,
was first to fall upon him.
He stripped his head, tore everything away,
hoping that Agave, wretched woman,
would know him and not kill him.
He touched her cheeks and cried:
"No, Mother, no, it is I,
your child, your Pentheus, born to you in Echion's house!
Have pity on me, Mother, I have wronged
but do not kill your son for my offense, not me, your son!"
[tr. Cacoyannis (1982)]

First Agaue, priestess of the kill, began
And fell upon him. He stripped his mitre
From his head, so poor Agaue would know
And not kill him, and said touching
Her cheek, “It’s me, mother, your child
Pentheus, whom you bore in Echion’s house.
Pity me, mother, don’t murder
Me, your son, for my sins!”
[tr. Blessington (1993)]

It was his own mother who first, as sacred priestess, began the slaughter
and falls upon him. He threw the headband from his hair
hoping that the wretched Agae, recognizing her son, might not kill him.
Touching her cheek, he spoke:
"It is I, mother, your son
Pentheus to whom you gave birth in the house of Echion.
Take pity, mother, and do not,
Because of my errors, kill your son."
[tr. Esposito (1998)]

His mother was the first at the killing. She was priestess,
and she rushed to attack him. He tore off his headband
in hopes she would recognize him, not kill him.
He reached out to her cheek, miserable Agavê’s,
and said, “I am yours, Mother, your child Pentheus.
You gave me birth in the house of Echion.
Pity me, Mother. I have made mistakes.
But do not kill your own son because of them.”
[tr. Woodruff (1999)]

As priestess, to begin the slaughter. She
Falls on him and he tears the headband from
His hair so that wretched Agaué will
Recognize him, not kill him, and he touches
Her cheek as he begins to say to her,
“Mother, it’s Pentheus, your child! It’s me!
You gave birth to me in Ekhion’s house.
Have pity on me, Mother! Don’t kill me
For my wrongdoing!”
[tr. Gibbons/Segal (2000), l. 1262ff]

His mother was the priestess and began the killing, hurling herself upon him. He, however, wrenched the headdress from his hair so that poor Agave would recognize him and not kill him. He put his hand to her cheek and said, "It's me, mother, Pentheus, the son you bore in Echion's house! Have pity on me, mother! I have sinned, but do not kill your own son!"
[tr. Kovacs (2002)]

His mother was the first to fall on him,
Frantically, from his face, he pulled his shawl
So that she might recognize him,
He touched her cheek, he implored her,
"It is me, mother, your son, Pentheus,
Pentheus whom you bore to Echion.
Have mercy, mother, do not kill me,
For all that I've done wrong, I'm still your son."
[tr. Teevan (2002)]

The first to fall on him was his own mother! [...] Pentheus pulled his robe aside so that she could see his face, and cried, "Mother! It is I, your Pentheus, born from your own womb! Have mercy, mother. Let it not come to pass that my sins cause you to slay your son!"
[tr. Rao/Wolf (2004)]

First it was his mother, Dionysos’ priestess. She started the slaughter. She jumped upon him with anger and he took the ribbon from his head so that his mother would recognize him and spare him and patted her cheek softly. “It’s me, mother,” he said, “your son, Pentheus. You gave birth to me, mother, in Echion’s palace! Have pity on me, mother! Don’t kill me, don’t kill your son just because he’s made a mistake.”
[tr. Theodoridis (2005)]

His own mother presided as priestess of the
slaughter and started first by falling upon him; and he threw his
sash from off of his hair so that poor, wretched Agave might
recognize, instead of kill, him.
And he says to her, reaching out for her cheek, "It's me mother, your son
Pentheus, who you bore to Echion.
Have mercy on me mother please: don't kill your own son
because of his mistakes."
[tr. Valerie (2005)]

She hurled herself at him. Pentheus tore off
his headband, untying it from his head,
so wretched Agave would recognize him,
so she wouldn't kill him. Touching he cheek,
he cried out, "It's me, mother, Pentheus,
your child. You gave birth to me at home,
in Echion's house. Pity me, mother --
Don't kill your child because I've made mistakes."
[tr. Johnston (2008), l. 1383ff]

His own mother,
like a priestess with her sacrifice, fell on him first.
But he snatched off his head-dress and wig
so she could see who he was.
He reached out his hand to touch her cheek
And cried out: "Mother! Mother! Look!
It's me, Pentheus, your own son!
The son you bore to Echion!
Spare me, Mother, I beg you!
I have done wrong, perhaps,
but you cannot kill your son!"
[tr. Robertson (2014)]

Like a priestess at the sacrificial altar, his mother began the slaughter. Poor Agave. He loosened the band from his hair that she might know him. He touched her cheek, saying, "I am your son, Pentheus, whom you bore in Echion's house -- have pity on me, mother, though I have sinned. Do not kill your son."
[tr. Behr/Foster (2019)]

His own mother, as priestess, began the slaughter, and fell upon him. He threw the miter from his head so that wretched Agaue might recognize and not kill him. Touching her cheek, he said: “It is I, mother, your son Pentheus, whom you bore in the house of Ekhion. Pity me, mother! Do not kill me, your child, for my errors!”
[tr. Buckley/Sens/Nagy (2020)]

His priestess-mother got the killing going,
attacking him. He tore off his headdress
so she would know him and not kill him,
poor Agave. Touching her face, he said:
“It’s me, mother. Your son, Pentheus.
You bore me in Echion’s house.
O mother, have mercy on me.
Don’t kill your son over his mistake.”
[tr. Benn (2022)]

Now the noblest inheritance that can ever be left by a father to his son, and far exceeding that of houses and lands, is the fame of his virtues and glorious actions; and for a son to live so, as is unworthy of the name and reputation of his ancestors, is the basest and most abominable thing in the world.
[tr. Cockman (1699)]

The best inheritance left by a father to his children, superior to every other patrimony, is the honor of a virtuous conduct, and the glory of his public transactions. And it is base and criminal by an unworthy conduct, to bring disgrace upon a father's reputation.
[tr. McCartney (1798)]

Now, the best inheritance a parent can leave a child -- more excellent than any patrimony -- is the glory of his virtue and his deeds; to bring disgrace on which ought to be regarded as wicked and monstrous.
[tr. Edmonds (1865)]

The noblest heritage, the richest patrimony a father can bequeath to his children is a reputation for virtue and noble deeds. To tarnish his good name is a sin and a crime.
[tr. Gardiner (1899)]

The best legacy a father can leave to his children, a legacy worth far more than the largest patrimony, is the fame of a virtuous and well-spent life. He who disgraces such a bequest is deserving of infamy.
[ed. Harbottle (1906)]

The noblest heritage, however, that is handed down from fathers to children, and one more precious than any inherited wealth, is a reputation for virtue and worthy deeds; and to dishonour this must be branded as a sin and a shame.
[tr. Miller (1913)]

The best heritage that descends from fathers to sons is the fame for honesty and great deeds. Such fame surpasses any legacy. We must judge it a crime and a shame to disgrace it.
[tr. Edinger (1974)]

For few, that rightly bred on both sides stand,
Are like their parents, many that are worse,
And most few better. Those then that the nurse
Or mother call true-born yet are not so,
Like worthy sires much less are like to grow.
[tr. Chapman (1616)]

Few sons exceed or reach their father’s might,
But commonly inferior they are.
[tr. Hobbes (1675), l. 257ff]

Few sons attain the praise
Of their great sires, and most their sires disgrace.
[tr. Pope (1725)]

Few sons their fathers equal; most appear
Degenerate; but we find, though rare, sometimes
A son superior even to his Sire.
[tr. Cowper (1792)]

Few be the children equal to their father:
The most be worse: and few be better men.
[tr. Bigge-Wither (1869)]

For few children, truly, are like their father; lo, the more part are worse, yet a few are better than the sire.
[tr. Butcher/Lang (1879)]

Though not oft is the son meseemeth e'en such an one as his sire.
Worser they be for the more part, and a few may be better forsooth.
[tr. Morris (1887)]

Few sons are like their fathers; most are worse, few better than the father.
[tr. Palmer (1891)]

Sons are seldom as good men as their fathers; they are generally worse, not better.
[tr. Butler (1898)]

Few sons indeed are like their fathers; most are worse, few better than their fathers.
[tr. Murray (1919)]

Few are the sons who attain their fathers' stature: and very few surpass them. Most fall short in merit.
[tr. Lawrence (1932)]

Few sons, indeed, are like their fathers. Generally they are worse; but just a few are better.
[tr. Rieu (1946)]

The son is rare who measures with his father,
and one in a thousand is a better man.
[tr. Fitzgerald (1961)]

For few are the children who turn out to be equals of their fathers,
and the greater number are worse; few are better than their father is.
[tr. Lattimore (1965)]

Few sons are the equals of their fathers;
most fall short, all too few surpass them.
[tr. Fagles (1996)]

You know, few sons turn out to be like their fathers;
Most turn out worse, a few better.
[tr. Lombardo (2000), ll. 300-301]

It is a truth that few sons are the equal of their fathers; most are inferior to their father, and few surpass them.
[tr. Verity (2016), l. 276]

And it is rare for sons to be like fathers;
only a few are better, most are worse.
[tr. Wilson (2017)]

Few are the sons who prove the equal of their fathers:
most are worth less, hardly any provem themselves better.
[tr. Green (2018)]

It’s true few men
are like their fathers. Most of them are worse.
Only very few of them are better.
[tr. Johnston (2019), l. 373ff]

• "One who is lucky in his son-in-law gains a son, one who is unlucky loses a daughter." [tr. Barnes (1987)]
• "The man who is lucky in his son-in-law gains a son, whilst the man who fails loses a daughter."

Well spoken: so right-minded sons should feel,
In all deferring to a father's will.
For 'tis the hope of parents they may rear
A brood of sons submissive, keen to avenge
Their father's wrongs, and count his friends their own.
But who begets unprofitable sons,
He verily breeds trouble for himself,
And for his foes much laughter.
[tr. Storr (1859)]

That, O my son! should be thy constant mind,
In all to bend thee to thy father's will.
Therefore men pray to have around their hearths
Obedient offspring, to requite their foes
With harm, and honour whom their father loves;
But he whose issue proves unprofitable,
Begets what else but sorrow to himself
And store of laughter to his enemies?
[tr. Campbell (1873)]

Yes, my son, this is the spirit you should maintain in your heart -- to stand behind your father's will in all things. It is for this that men pray: to sire and raise in their homes children who are obedient, that they may requite their father's enemy with evil and honor his friend, just as their father does. But the man who begets unhelpful children -- what would you say that he has sown except miseries for himself and abundant exultation for his enemies?
[tr. Jebb (1891), l. 640ff]

Yea, this, my son, should be thy heart's fixed law, -- in all things to obey thy father's will. 'Tis for this that men pray to see dutiful children grow up around them in their homes, -- that such may requite their father's foe with evil, and honour, as their father doth, his friend. But he who begets unprofitable children -- what shall we say that he hath sown, but troubles for himself, and much triumph for his foes?
[tr. Jebb (1917)]

Good. That is the way to behave: subordinate
Everything else, my son, to your father’s will
This is what a man prays for, that he may get
Sons attentive and dutiful in his house,
Each one hating his father’s enemies,
Honoring his father’s friends. But if his sons
Fail him, if they turn out unprofitably,
What has he fathered but trouble for himself
And amusement for the malicious?
[tr. Fitts/Fitzgerald (1939), l. 503ff]

Rightly said.
Your father’s will should have your heart’s first place.
Only for this do fathers pray for sons
Obedient, loyal, ready to strike down
Their father’s foes, and love their father’s friends.
To be the father of unprofitable sons
Is to be the father of sorrows, a laughingstock
To all one’s enemies.
[tr. Watling (1947), l. 540ff]

And that’s how it should always be, my son! Everything should give way to a father’s wish because that’s why a father hopes to have many children: so that they can inflict upon his enemies whatever hard punishment they can and treat his friends with the same honour as he does. Whereas the father who brings to the world worthless children, well, how would that be different to having brought about the birth of innumerable pains and cause for his enemies to ridicule him?
[tr. Theodoridis (2004)]

Indeed, my son,
that’s how your heart should always be resolved,
to stand behind your father’s judgment
on every issue. That’s what men pray for --
obedient children growing up at home
who will pay back their father’s enemies,
evil to them for evil done to him,
while honouring his friends as much as he does.
A man who fathers useless children --
what can one say of him except he’s bred
troubles for himself, and much to laugh at
for those who fight against him?
[tr. Johnston (2005), l. 724ff]

There's a good boy. So should you hold at heart
and stand behind your father all the way.
It is for this men pray they may beget
households of dutiful obedient sons,
who share alike in punishing enemies,
and give due honor to their father's friends.
Whoever breeds a child that will not help
what has he sown but trouble for himself,
and for his enemies laughter full and free?
[tr. Wyckoff (1954)]

Yes, you should always be disposed this way in your breast, boy,
to assume your post behind your father’s judgments
in all things. For this reason, men pray to beget
and have sons in their households who listen,
that they may both repay an enemy with evils
and honor the philos equally with the father.
Whoever produces useless children,
what could you say about him except that he begets
hardship for himself and great mockery for his enemies.
[tr. Tyrell/Bennett (2002)]