For Puthian oracles, thy speech, and hard too.KASSANDRAPapai: what fire this! and it comes upon me!Ototoi, Lukeion Apollon, ah me — me!She, the two-footed lioness that sleeps withThe wolf, in absence of the generous lion,Kills me the unhappy one: and as a poisonBrewing, to put my price too in the anger,She vows, against her mate this weapon whettingTo pay him back the bringing me, with slaughter.Why keep I then these things to make me laughed at,Both wands and, round my neck, oracular fillets?Thee, at least, ere my own fate will I ruin:Go, to perdition falling! Boons exchange we —Some other Até in my stead make wealthy!See there — himself, Apollon stripping from meThe oracular garment! having looked upon me— Even in these adornments, laughed by friends at,As good as foes, i’ the balance weighed: and vainly —For, called crazed stroller, — as I had been gipsy,Beggar, unhappy, starved to death, — I bore it.