And banish all my woes.
Hercules: Where shall I flee?
Where hide myself? What land shall bury me
From human sight? What Tanaïs or Nile,
What Tigris, with the waves of Persia mad,
What warlike Rhine, or Tagus, flowing full 1325
And turgid with Iberia's golden sands,
Can ever cleanse this right hand of its stains?
Though chill Maeotis pour its icy floods
Upon me; though the boundless sea should pour
Its waters o'er my hands; still would they be
Deep dyed with crime. Where wilt thou take thyself,
Thou murderer? Wilt flee to east, or west? 1330
Known everywhere, I have no place of flight.
The whole world shrinks from sight of me; the stars
Avert their courses from me, and the sun
Saw even Cerberus with milder face.
O Theseus, faithful friend, seek out a place, 1335
Far off from here, where I may hide myself.
Since thou a lenient judge of others' sins
Hast ever been, grant mercy now to me.
Restore me to the infernal shades, I beg,
And load me with the chains thou once didst wear. 1340
That place will hide me—but it knows me too!
Theseus: My land awaits thy coming; there will[1] Mars
Wash clean thy hands, and give thee back thy arms.
That land, O Hercules, now calls to thee,
Which even gods from sin is wont to free.
- ↑ Reading, restituet.
