Heracles
Euripides
Euripides. The Plays of Euripides, Translated into English Prose from the Text of Paley. Vol. II. Coleridge, Edward P., translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1891.
- shows zeal no doubt, but it is zeal with a taint of folly; for what must be, no one will ever avail to alter.
- If a man had insulted you, while yet my arms were strong, there would have been an easy way to stop him; but now am I am nothing ; and so you henceforth, Amphitryon,
- must scheme how to avert misfortune.
- It is not cowardice or any longing for life that hinders my dying, but my wish to save my son’s children, though no doubt I am longing for the impossible. See! here is my neck ready for the sword
- to pierce, to hack, to hurl from the rock; only one favor I crave for both of us, king; slay me and this hapless mother before you slay the children, that we may not see the hideous sight, as they gasp out their lives, calling on their mother
- and their father’s father; for the rest work your will if so you are inclined; for we have no defense against death.
- I too implore you add a second favor, that by your single act you may put us both under a double obligation; allow me to deck my children in the robes of death,
- first opening the palace gates, for now we are shut out, so that this at least they may obtain from their father’s halls.
- I grant it, and bid my servants undo the bolts. Go in and deck yourselves; robes do not grudge. But as soon as you have clothed yourselves,
- I will return to you to consign you to the nether world. Exit Lycus.
- Children, follow the footsteps of your hapless mother to your father’s house, where others possess his substance, though his name is still ours. Exit Megara with her children.
- O Zeus, in vain, it seems, did I get you to share my bride with me;
- in vain used we to call you partner in my son. After all you are less our friend than you pretended. Great god as you are, I, a mortal, surpass you in true worth. For I did not betray the children of Heracles; but you by stealth found your way to my bed,
- taking another’s wife without leave given, while to save your own friends you have no skill. Either you are a god of little sense, or else naturally unjust. Exit Amphitryon.
- Phoebus is singing a dirge, after his happier strains,
- for Linus dead in his beauty, striking his lyre with key of gold; but I wish to sing a song of praise, a crown to all his toil, on the one who has gone to the gloom beneath the nether world,
- whether I am to call him son of Zeus or of Amphitryon. For the virtue of noble toils is a glory to the dead.
- First he cleared the grove of Zeus
- of a lion, and put its skin upon his back, hiding his hair in its fearful gaping jaws.
- And then one day with murderous bow he wounded