with arrows dipped in the venom of the hundred-headed hydra.TheseusThis is Hera’s work; but who lies there among the dead, old man?

AmphitryonMy son, my own enduring son, that marched with gods to Phlegra’s plain, there to battle with giants and slay them, warrior that he was.TheseusAh, ah! whose fortune was ever so cursed as his?

AmphitryonNever will you find another mortal that has suffered more or been driven harder.TheseusWhy does he veil his head, poor wretch, in his robe?

AmphitryonHe is ashamed to meet your eye; his kinsman’s kind intent and his children’s blood make him abashed.TheseusBut I come to sympathize; uncover him.

AmphitryonMy son, remove that mantle from your eyes, throw it from you, show your face to the sun. As a counterweight, fighting along with my tears, I entreat you as a suppliant, as I grasp your beard, your knees, your hands, and let fall