Prepare thy dauntless hand. Behold my breast,
So full of cares, lies open to thy stroke. 1000
Smite: I forgive the deed; the very fiends,
The dread Eumenides, will spare thy hand.
But hark! I hear their dreadful scourges sound.
Sir! Who is that who coils her snaky locks,
And at her ugly temples brandishes
Two deadly[1] darts? Why dost thou follow me, 1005
O dire Megaera, with thy blazing brand?
Dost thou seek penalty for Hercules?
I will discharge it. O thou dreadful one,
Already have the arbiters of hell
Passed judgment on me? Lo, I see the doors
Of that sad prison-house unfold for me.
Who is that ancient man who on his back,
Worn with the toil, the stone's huge burden heaves? 1010
And even as I look the conquered stone
Rolls back again. Who on the whirling wheel
Is racked? And see! There stands Tisiphone,
With ghastly, cruel face; she seeks revenge.
Oh, spare thy scourge, Megaera, spare, I pray,
Thy Stygian brands. 'Twas love that prompted me. 1015
But what is this? The earth is tottering,
The palace roof is crashing to its fall.
Whence comes that threatening throng? Against me comes
The whole world rushing; see, on every side
The nations gnash at me, demanding back
Their savior. O ye cities, spare, I pray. 1020
Oh, whither shall I hide me from their rage?
Death is the only haven left to me.
By gleaming Phoebus' fiery disk I swear,
By all the gods of heaven: I go to death,
But leave Alcides still upon the earth.
[She rushes from the scene.]
Hyllus: Ah me, in mood of frenzy has she fled.
My mother's part in this sad tragedy 1025
Is self-assigned; she is resolved to die.
My part remains to thwart her dread resolve.
- ↑ Reading, atras.
