And shriek[1] its rage at me from every side;
Though Sinis dire should hurl me through the air:
Though sore bestead and mangled, still would I
In silence bear it all. No beasts, no arms,
No weapon wielded by the hand of man,
Could force from me a single word of pain. 1395
Alcmena: No woman's poison burns thy limbs, my son;
But thy long years of work, thy constant toils,
Have for thy woe some evil sickness bred.
Hercules: Sickness, say'st thou? Where may this sickness be?
Does any evil still upon the earth
Exist, with me alive? But let it come.
Let someone quickly bring my bow to me— 1400
But no: my naked hands will be enough.
Now bid the monster come.
Alcmena: Alas, his pains,
Too great, have reft his senses quite away.
Remove his weapons, take those deadly shafts
Out of his reach, I pray. His burning cheeks 1405
Some violence portend. Oh, where shall I,
A helpless, agéd woman hide myself?
That grief of his has changed to maddened rage,
And that alone is master of him now.
Why should I, therefore, foolish that I am,
Seek hiding-place or flight? By some brave hand
Alcmena has deserved to meet her death.
So let me perish even impiously, 1410
Before some craven soul command my death,
Or some base creature triumph over me.
But sec, outworn by woe, his weary heart
Is in the soothing bonds of slumber bound;
His panting chest with labored breathing heaves.
Have mercy, O ye gods. If ye from me 1415
Have willed to take my glorious son, at least
Spare to the world, I pray, its champion.
Let all his pains depart, and once again
Let great Alcides' frame renew its strength.
[Enter Hyllus.]
- ↑ Reading, fremens.
