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Specimens of Greek Tragedy

G >> Goldwin Smith >> Specimens of Greek Tragedy




CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Thou and Orestes soon will put us down.

ELECTRA.

We put thee down? We are put down ourselves.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Stranger, thy mission would be blessed indeed
If thou could silence yonder termagant.

PAEDAGOGOS.

If I am no more needed, let me go.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Nay, it would shame my hospitality
And his that sent thee, thus to let thee go.
Come in with me, and leave this damsel here,
To mourn her friend's disasters and her own.

(_Exeunt_ PAEDAGOGOS _and_ CLYTAEMNESTRA.)

ELECTRA.

How say ye? Does yon wretched woman seem
Deeply to mourn and bitterly bewail
The son that has so miserably died?
She goes off mocking us. Woe worth the day!
Dearest Orestes, I have died in thee.
For thou hast carried with thee to the grave
The only hope that in my heart yet lived,
The hope that thou wouldst some day come to venge
Thy sire and me. Now whither can I turn?
I am left desolate, deprived of thee,
As of my father. Once more I become
The slave of those whom I do hate like death,
My father's murderers. What a lot is mine!
But with those murderers I will dwell no more
Under one roof; an outcast at this gate
I'll fling me down, and pine away my life.
Let those within, then, if my grief offends,
Kill me at once. Welcome would be the blow;
Life is a burden, death would be a boon.

* * * * *

_THE SISTERS_.

Electra's sister, Chrysothemis, having found the offering of Orestes
on his father's tomb, brings what she deems glad tidings to Electra,
who meets her with the announcement that the Pedagogos has just
brought certain news of their brother's death. Electra, now reduced to
despair, proposes to Chrysothemis that they should themselves attempt
to slay Aegisthus.

LINES 871-1057.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Joy, dearest sister, has impelled my steps
To haste with no regard for dignity,
[Footnote: Composure in gait and manner was the rule for Hellenic
women.]
I bring to thee glad tidings and relief
From all the miseries thou hast undergone.

ELECTRA.

Whence canst thou any aid or comfort draw
For my misfortunes which are past all cure?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Orestes has come home. Doubt not my word.
As sure as now thou seest me, he is here.

ELECTRA.

Hast thou gone mad, unhappy one, that thus
Thou mockest at my miseries and thy own?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

By our ancestral hearth I swear to thee
I say not this in mockery; he is here.

ELECTRA.

O misery, from what mortal hast thou heard
This story that has gained thy fond belief?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

It is no hearsay: mine own eyes have seen
The certain proofs of that which I believe.

ELECTRA.

What is the token? What has met thy gaze
To fire thy silly heart with fevered hope?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Only give ear to what I have to tell,
Then call me mad, or not mad, as thou wilt.

ELECTRA.

Speak on, if thou hast pleasure in the tale.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

All that I saw, I will recount to thee.
When to our old ancestral tomb I came,
I saw a stream of milk fresh running down,
From the mound's summit, and our father's grave
Crowned with a wreath of all the flowers that grow.
The sight amazed me and I looked around,
Fearing lest some intruder might be near.
But when I saw that all around was still,
I drew near to the tomb, and on its edge
I found a lock of hair, freshly cut off.
When I beheld that lock, into my soul
Rushed a familiar image, and meseemed
Orestes must have laid that token there.
I took it up, I opened not my lips,
But in my eyes the tears of joy o'erflowed.
That from one hand alone this gift could come
Is now, as then it was, my sure belief.
Who else could lay it there save you or me?
That 'twas not I, is certain, and no less
That 'twas not you, when scarcely you have leave
To go forth to the temples of the gods;
While, for our mother, she has little mind
To do such things, nor could she go unseen.
It is Orestes that his homage pays.
Be of good cheer, my sister; destiny
Unkind to-day, to-morrow may be kind.
So far it has been adverse, but this hour,
Perchance, may prove the dawn of happiness.

ELECTRA.

I pity as I hear thy foolish talk.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Why? Is not what I say sweet to thine ear?

ELECTRA.

Thou know'st not what thou dost or where thou art.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Not know the thing which my own eyes beheld?

ELECTRA.

He's dead, poor foolish heart. These proofs of thine
Are good for nothing. Look for him no more.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Unhappy me; who was it told thee this?

ELECTRA.

One that was present when he met his end.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Amazement fills my soul! Where is this man?

ELECTRA.

Within there, and our mother's welcome guest.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Thy words o'erwhelm me. Who, then, could have laid
Affection's offerings on our father's grave?

ELECTRA.

That some one brought them as memorials
Of dead Orestes, likeliest seems to me.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Unhappy that I am! And full of joy
I hastened with these tidings, ignorant
Of our dark fate. I left the cup of grief
Full, and I come to see it overflow.

ELECTRA.

So stands it now, but do what I advise,
And thou mayest lighten yet this load of woe.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

How? Can I bring the dead to life again?

ELECTRA.

I meant not that, nor was so void of sense.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

What wouldst thou have, that is within my power?

ELECTRA.

I'd have thee bravely do what I enjoin.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

So it be helpful, I will not refuse.

ELECTRA.

Look, without effort nothing will go well.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

'Tis true, and I will aid with all my might.

ELECTRA.

Hear now my resolution. Thou dost know
That we are friendless now; the friend we had
Hades has ta'en and left us desolate.
While I still heard that our Orestes lived,
And all was well with him, the hope remained
That he would come, and venge our murdered sire.
But now that he is gone I look to thee
To lend thy sister aid in taking off
Aegisthus; frankly such is my intent.
Where will thy sufferance end? what hope is left
For thee to look to? woe on woe is thine.
Of thy sire's wealth thou'rt disinherited,
And to this hour hast been condemned to pine
In cold companionless virginity.
Nor deem that thou shalt ever be a bride;
Aegisthus is not so devoid of sense
As to permit a shoot from thee or me
To spring which to his certain bane would grow.
But if thy soul can rise to my resolve,
First to thy sire and brother there below
Thou wilt discharge the debt of piety;
Next a free woman thou wilt be once more,
As thou wast born, and find a worthy mate,
For lover's eyes look to the good and brave.
Then seest thou not what glory thou wilt win
For both of us, embracing my design?
What citizen or foreigner will fail
Whene'er we pass, to pay his meed of praise?
"Look at yon pair of sisters; these are they
That from its fall redeemed their father's house,
That setting their own lives upon the die,
Their enemies, in power uplifted, slew.
To these we all should loving homage pay,
These ever honour at our festivals
And our assemblies for their bravery."
Such things the public voice will say of us,
In life or death our fame will never end.
Consent, dear sister; for thy father strike,
Strike for thy brother, rescue me from woe,
Redeem thyself. Those who are nobly born
Honour forbids to live the butt of scorn.

CHORUS.

Foresight in matters such as these is good,
For those who give and those who take advice.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Before she spoke, ladies, had not her mind
Been quite perverted, she would have held fast
The caution which she utterly lets go.
What puts it in thy heart, this desperate deed
Thyself to dare, and call on me to aid?
Dost thou not know that thou a woman art?
And that our enemies are mightier far?
While their good fortune waxes day by day,
Ours wanes as fast and leaves us destitute.
Who then that strikes at one so powerful
Can fail to pluck down ruin on himself?
Beware, lest to our ills we add more ill,
If these thy resolutions get abroad.
Little would all that glory profit us,
If we should die an ignominious death.
And death is not the worst that may befall;
It is worse still to long for death in vain.
I do conjure thee, ere thou ruin us
Beyond redemption, and cut off our race,
To moderate thy wrath; what thou hast said
I will regard as unsaid, null and void.
Do thou at last get thee some sober sense,
And yield to power as thou art powerless.

CHORUS.

Take her advice; there is not among men
A better thing than foresight and good sense.

ELECTRA.

All thou hast said I did anticipate;
What I proposed I knew thou wouldst reject.
Alone, with my own hand, I'll do the deed;
My resolution shall not come to naught.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

What now thou art, would thou hadst been the day
Thy father died: thou wouldst have ruled the hour.

ELECTRA.

In heart I was the same, but not in sense.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Strive still to keep the sense that then thou hadst.

ELECTRA.

Thy preaching shows I shall not have thy aid,

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

No, for the enterprise is desperate.

ELECTRA.

Thy sense I envy, but thy spirit scorn.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Thy blame or praise to me is all the same.

ELECTRA.

Praise from these lips thou needest never fear.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

That will be seen hereafter: time is long.

ELECTRA.

Get thee away, in thee there is no help.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Help is in me, knowledge in thee is not.

ELECTRA.

Go, if thou wilt, and tell our mother all.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Hate if I must, not so far goes my hate.

ELECTRA.

It goes so far as to dishonour me.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Not to dishonour but to care for thee.

ELECTRA.

And is my justice to be led by thine?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Learn to be wise, and thou shalt lead us both.

ELECTRA.

'Tis pity when good talkers go astray.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Thou hast exactly hit thy own disease.

ELECTRA.

What! have I not, then, justice on my side?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Justice itself may sometimes lead us wrong.

ELECTRA.

Let me not live where justice may be wrong.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Do it and thou wilt see that I was right.

ELECTRA.

Do it I will, and reckless of thy frown.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Thou wilt: and is no room for counsel left?

ELECTRA.

Base counsel is a thing my soul abhors.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

It seems that we shall never be agreed.

ELECTRA.

Of that I was convinced a while ago.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

I will begone: thy spirit will not brook
My counsel, nor can I thy ways approve.

ELECTRA.

Go then, but never shall I follow thee,
Entreat me as thou mayst, of that be sure:
Fools only look for that which none can find.
[Footnote: As no help or sympathy can be found in Chrysothemis.]

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

If thou dost seem unto thyself so wise
Hug thine own wisdom, soon in danger's hour
Thou wilt confess that I have counselled right.

(_Exit_ CHRYSOTHEMIS.)

* * * * *

_THE RECOGNITION_.

Orestes enters with the urn which, it is pretended, contains his
ashes. His recognition ensues.

LINES 1097-1231.

ORESTES.

Say, ladies, have we been informed aright,
And has our journey led us to our mark?

CHORUS.

What is thy journey's mark? Whom dost thou seek?

ORESTES.

I fain would learn where King Aegisthus dwells.

CHORUS.

Thou hast not been misled, this is the place.
ORESTES.

Would one of you announce to those within.
In courteous wise that strangers twain are here?

CHORUS.

That will this maid if kinship gives a claim.

ORESTES.

Go, lady, then, and tell them in the house
That Phocian envoys for Aegisthus look.

ELECTRA.

Alas! ye bear I ween the certain proofs
Of that which has already reached our ears.

ORESTES.

I know not what that is; old Strophius
Has charged me of Orestes news to bring.

ELECTRA.

Stranger, what is it? fear comes over me.

ORESTES.

He is no more, and here behold we bear
His poor remains, gathered in this small urn.

ELECTRA.

Alas! for me all doubt is over now;
Here is the sorrow present to my touch.

ORESTES.

If for Orestes thou hast cause to mourn
Know that whate'er is left of him is here.

ELECTRA.

Friend, if that urn indeed Orestes holds,
Give it, I do conjure thee, to my hands,
That I may weep my own calamities,
And those of our whole race, with this dear dust.

ORESTES.

Whoever she may be, give her the urn;
Her wish approves her not an enemy
But a good friend, perchance one near in blood.

ELECTRA.

Dearest of all memorials to my heart,
Relic of my Orestes, what a change
From those fond hopes with which I sent thee forth!
Full of bright promise wast thou then, and now
I see thee here reduced to nothingness.
Would I myself had died before the hour
When from the murderous hands that sought thy life
I snatched and sent thee to a foreign shore,
So hadst thou met thy end at once and slept
In thy forefather's tomb. Instead whereof
Thou hast died miserably far from home,
An exile, with no sister at thy side.
I was not there with loving hand to wash
Thy corpse, to lay thee out, or gather up,
As nature bade, the relics of the pyre.
Strange hands those rites performed; and thou art here,
A little dust clipt in a narrow urn.
Unhappy me! how bootless were the pains
Which many a day I spent in nursing thee,
A labour that I loved, for thou wert not
Thy mother's darling more than thou wert mine.
No menial hands tended thy infancy,
But I thy sister, joying in that name.
Now all has vanished in a single day,
And thou art gone, and like a storm hast swept
All off with thee. My father is no more,
Thy sister dies in thee, thyself art dust.
Our enemies exult, and, mad with joy,
Is that unnatural mother, whom to smite
With thine own hand thou oft didst promise me,
By secret messages which destiny,
Unkind to both of us, now brings to naught,
Sending me here, instead of that loved form,
Cold ashes and an ineffectual shade.

Ah me! ah me!
Poor form.
Alas! alas!
Sent to the saddest bourne.
Ah me! ah me!
Dearest of brothers, thou hast ruined me,
Ruined thy sister, brother of my love.

Receive me now in that abode of thine,
That, dust to dust, I may abide with thee
Forever there below. When thou wast here,
All things were common to us; now I crave
To be thy mate in death and share thy tomb,
For there I see they do not sorrow more.

CHORUS.

Electra, think; a mortal was thy sire.
Orestes was a mortal; calm thy grief
For loss is common to mortality.

ORESTES.

What can I say? words to my bursting heart
Are wanting. I can check my tongue no more.

ELECTRA.

What is it troubles thee? What means thy speech?

ORESTES.

Can what I see be fair Electra's face?

ELECTRA.

Her face it is, and in most piteous plight.

ORESTES.
My heart is wrung by looking on such woe.

ELECTRA.

Can one unknown to thee thy pity move?

ORESTES.

O beauteous wreck, by heaven and man disowned!

ELECTRA.

The picture limned in those sad words is mine.

ORESTES.

Woe for thy cheerless and unwedded life.

ELECTRA.

Why dost thou gaze on me thus mournfully?

ORESTES.

It seems that of my woes I knew but half.

ELECTRA.

What have I said to breathe this thought in thee?

ORESTES.

'Tis bred by sight of sorrow's effigy.
ELECTRA.

What thou dost see is of my griefs the least.

ORESTES.

What can be worse than what I now behold?

ELECTRA.

What can be worse? Life with the murderers.

ORESTES.

Murderers of whom? Thy tale of crime unfold.

ELECTRA.

My father's murderers, and their slave am I.

ORESTES.

What tyrant has imposed on thee this yoke?

ELECTRA.

My mother, little worthy of that name.

ORESTES.

And how? By persecution or by force?

ELECTRA.

By persecution, force, and all that's vile.

ORESTES.

And hast thou none to save thee from her hands?

ELECTRA.

One such I had, and thou hast brought his dust.

ORESTES.

Unhappy maid, my soul does pity thee.

ELECTRA.

Only in thee have I such pity found.

ORESTES.

I also am a partner of thy woe.

ELECTRA.

Art thou some kinsman come I know not whence?

ORESTES.

That thou shalt hear, provided these are friends.

ELECTRA.

And friends they are, thou mayest confide in them.

ORESTES.

Give back that urn, and I will tell thee all.

ELECTRA.

Nay, I conjure thee; let me keep it still.

ORESTES.

Do as I say and thou wilt not repent.

ELECTRA.

O grant my prayer, and rob not this poor heart.

ORESTES.

I must not leave it with thee.

ELECTRA.

Woe is me,
Orestes, if I may not tend thy dust.

ORESTES.

Peace, maiden, peace! thou hast no cause to mourn.

ELECTRA.

No cause to mourn, who have a brother lost?

ORESTES.

To speak of brothers lost is not for thee.

ELECTRA.
Have I not then the mourner's privilege?

ORESTES.

Naught hast thou lost, and hast no part in this.

ELECTRA.

I have, if this contains my brother's dust.

ORESTES.

It does not, save in name and in pretence.

ELECTRA.

Where, then, does my ill-starred Orestes lie?

ORESTES.

Nowhere; for he who lives can have no grave.

ELECTRA.

What dost thou say, young man?

ORESTES.

I tell thee truth.

ELECTRA.

How! does he live?

ORESTES.

Sure as I live he lives.

ELECTRA.

And art thou he?

ORESTES.

Look on this signet ring,
Our father's once, and tell me if I lie.

ELECTRA.

Light of my life, most dear.

ORESTES.

Most dear indeed.

ELECTRA.

Is it that voice I hear?

ORESTES.

It is that voice.

ELECTRA.

And do these arms enfold thee?

ORESTES.

Ay, forever.

ELECTRA.

(_To the_ CHORUS.)

My countrywomen and companions dear,
Behold Orestes that erewhile was dead.
Dead by device now by device alive.

CHORUS.

Maiden, we do behold him; at the sight,
The tears of joy are gathering in our eyes.





THE TRACHINIAE.


Deianira, the wife of Hercules, fears that she has lost her husband's
love, and that it has been transferred to the beautiful captive Iole,
whom he has brought back with him on his return in triumph from the
storming of Oechalia. She bethinks her of a love-charm which she has
long had among her treasures. It is the blood of Nessus, the Centaur,
who, having offered her violence, and received his death-wound from
Hercules in her defence, had perfidiously persuaded her that his blood
would win back her husband's love. The blood, being infected with the
poison of the Lernsean Hydra, in which the arrows of Hercules were
dipped, proves the deadly instrument of the Centaur's posthumous
vengeance. Deianira sends a robe sprinkled with it as a gift to
Hercules, who, having put on the robe to offer his triumphal
sacrifice, expires in fiery torments.

The play is called from the Trachinian women who form the Chorus.

* * * * *

_THE LOVE-CHARM._

Deianira imparts the secret of her device to the Chorus, and puts the
fatal robe into the hands of Lichas, the Herald who has brought Iole
to the house, that he may carry it to Hercules.

LINES 531-632.

DEIANIRA.

Good friends, while yonder stranger, ere he part,
Is talking to the captive maids within,
I come forth secretly to speak to you.
What I devise I would to you confide,
And for my trouble I crave your sympathy.
That maid, a maid no more I guess, but wed,
I have received on board my barque, a bale
Of mockery and of outrage for my heart;
And now we twain beneath one quilt must lie,
And share the same embrace. Thus Heracles,
That excellent and faithful spouse of mine,
Repays the long-tried guardian of his home.
To play the angry wife I know not how,
So oft has he been sick of this disease.
But with this wench to dwell in partnership
As second wife, what woman could endure?
My youthful beauty now is on the wane,
While hers is growing, and the lover's eye
Turns from the withering to the blooming flower.
Heracles will, I fear, be mine in name,
In deed, the husband of a younger wife.
But, as I said, no wife not void of sense
Will show her wrath. The talisman, my friends,
That is to work the cure ye now shall hear.
I hold safe treasured in a brazen urn
The keepsake which a Centaur gave of old.
From shaggy Nessus when I was a maid
I had it, 'twas his dying legacy.
He over deep Evenus stream was wont
In his own arms to carry passengers,
Not using oars nor sails to ferry them.
And when, from my paternal home sent forth,
A bride I journeyed with my Heracles,
Bearing me on his back, in the midstream
He laid rash hands on me. I shrieked aloud.
The son of Zeus turned him and quick let fly
A shaft that, hurtling through the Centaur's chest,
Transfixed him. Feeling that his end was come,
The monster said to me, "Old Oeneus' child,
As thou art my last fare, hearken to me:
Thou shall have cause to thank thy ferryman.
If thou wilt bear away this clotted blood
That marks the spot whereon the arrow steeped
In the Lernaean Hydra's venom fell;
In it thou'lt ever find a spell to bind
The heart of Heracles, and to prevent
His loving any woman in thy stead."
Of this love-charm, my friends, bethinking me,
As, kept with care, it in my closet lay,
I steeped a robe in it, adding whate'er
The Centaur bade, and now my work is done.
Black arts I know not nor desire to know,
And all who practise such abominate;
But if so be, we can with this love-charm
Win from yon maid the heart of Heracles,
The means are found, unless my plan to thee
Seems ill-advised; if so, I give it o'er.

CHORUS.

Nay, if in any plan we could confide,
Thine, in our judgment, is not ill-advised.

DEIANIRA.

So far I can confide as judgment serves,
For no trial of the charm has yet been made.

CHORUS.

Then make one; knowledge that thou seemst to have
Thou hast not, till experience set its seal.

DEIANIRA.

All doubts will soon be cleared; here Lichas comes
Forth from the house, and soon he will be here.
Only, my friends, keep ye my counsel well;
Sin in the dark and thou shalt not be sham'd.

LICHAS.

Daughter of Oeneus, what are thy commands?
Too long already have we been delayed.

DEIANIRA.

To speed thy going I was taking thought,
While thou wert talking to the stranger maid.
Bear this well-woven garment to my lord,
An offering from his Deianira's hand.
Enjoin him straightly that before himself
No man be suffered to put on this robe,
And that it be exposed to no sun's ray,
No sacred altar's fire, no blazing hearth,
Until himself before the gods shall stand
Dight in it on the day of sacrifice.
I registered a vow that when I saw
Or heard of his home-coming, in this robe
I would attire him, that before the gods
Freshly in fresh array he might appear.
For token bear with thee this signet ring,
Which, when he sees it, he will recognise.
Set forth; first keep the law of messengers,
Which bids them not beyond their mission go.
Then what is now my husband's single debt,
If thou canst, double by my gratitude.

LICHAS.

Fear not, if I am Hermes' liegeman true,
That I shall fail thy bidding to perform,
To place this casket in thy husband's hands,
And therewith thy assurances repeat.

DEIANIRA.

Proceed then on thy road; thou canst report
To my good lord that all is well at home.

LICHAS.

I know and shall report that all is well.

DEIANIRA.

Thyself didst witness in how gentle wise
We did receive and welcome yonder maid.

LICHAS.

The sight astonished and delighted me.

DEIANIRA.

Then all thou hast to say is said. I fear
That thou wilt tell of my fond love for him
Ere thou canst tell of his fond love for me.

* * * * *

_THE CENTAUR'S REVENGE._

Deianira recounts to the Chorus an alarming and portentous incident.
Then Hyllus, the son of Hercules, comes and announces the catastrophe.

LINES 663-820.

DEIANIRA.

Maidens, I greatly fear that I have gone,
In what I did, beyond the line of right.

CHORUS.

Daughter of Oeneus, say whence comes thy fear?

DEIANIRA.

I know not; but I tremble lest my act,
Done with fair hope, should end with foul mischance.

CHORUS.

Thou dost not mean thy gift to Heracles?

DEIANIRA.

Tis so, and I would counsel every one
Not to go fast, unless their way is sure.

CHORUS.

Tell, if thou may'st, what causes thy alarm.

DEIANIRA.

A thing has happened, maidens, which when told
Will fill your minds with awe and wonderment.
The tuft of wool, fresh shorn and bright, wherewith
I spread the ointment on that robe of state,
By no one of my household train destroyed,
But self-consumed, has vanished out of sight.
And on the pavement melted quite away.
That thou may'st know the whole, let me proceed.
Of all the Centaur in his agony,
Pierced by the deadly arrow, bade me do,
I naught forgot, but treasured every word,
As if inscribed on brass indelibly;
What he prescribed and I performed was this,
That I should keep this unguent closely shut
Beyond the reach of sun-heat or of fire,
Until the time had come for using it.
And so I did; but now, the occasion ripe,
I in my secret chamber laid it on,
With wool shorn from a sheep of our own flock;
And letting not the sunlight touch my gift,
Folded it in a casket, as ye know.
Entering the house again, I saw a sight
Passing the wit of man to understand:
The tuft of wool with which I had laid on
The unguent, I by chance had thrown aside
Into the sunshine, where, as it grew warm,
It crumbled all away, and on the ground
Lay scattered, as when wood is being sawn
We see the dust fall from the biting saw.
So did it look; and after, from the earth
Where it had lain, a clotted foam broke forth,
As when in mellow Autumn the rich juice
Of Bacchic vine is spilled upon the ground.
My mind distraught knows not which way to turn,
But something dreadful have I surely done.
How should the Centaur, in his agony,
Have sought to serve her that had caused his death?
He could not. To avenge him on the hand
That sped the shaft he cozened me, and I
See his fell purpose when it is too late.
I, if my boding soul deceive me not,
Alone shall be my hero's murderess.
That by which Nessus died was Chiron's bane,
Immortal though he was, all animals
Struck by it die; and shall not the dark blood,
That, poisoned by it, flowed from Nessus' wound,
Be fatal to my lord? Surely it will.
But if my lord miscarry, my resolve
Is fixed to keep him company in death.
A life of infamy she cannot bear
That would be true to her nobility.

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