“You bloodthirsty Cyrus, pride not yourself on this poor success: it was the grape-juice—which, when you drink it, makes you so mad, and as you swallow it down brings up to your lips such bold and wicked words—it was this poison by which you ensnared my child, and so overcame him, not in fair open fight. Now hear what I advise, and be sure I advise you for your good. Restore my son to me and get you from the land unharmed, triumphant over a third part of the host of the Massagetai. Refuse, and I swear by the sun, the sovereign lord of the Massagetai, bloodthirsty as you are, I will give you your fill of blood.”