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.

  1. and these prerogatives I hold, not to use them in anger against friends, nor do I have any joy in visiting the homes of men; and I wish to counsel Hera, before I see her make a mistake, and you too, if you will hearken to my words. This man, against whose house you are sending me, has made himself a name alike in heaven
  2. and earth; for, after taming pathless wilds and raging sea, he by his single might raised up again the honors of the gods when sinking before man’s impiety; . . . wherefore I counsel you, do not wish him dire mishaps.
Iris
  1. Spare us your advice on Hera’s and my schemes.
Madness
  1. I seek to turn your steps into the best path instead of into this one of evil.
Iris
  1. It was not to practice self-control that the wife of Zeus sent you here.
Madness
  1. I call the sun-god to witness that here I am acting against my will; but if indeed I must at once serve you and Hera
  2. and follow you in full cry as hounds follow the huntsman, then I will go; neither ocean with its fiercely groaning waves, nor the earthquake, nor the thunderbolt with blast of agony shall be like the headlong rush I will make into the breast of Heracles; through his roof will I burst my way and swoop upon his house,
  3. after first slaying his children; nor shall their murderer know that he is killing the children he begot, till he is released from my madness. Behold him! see how even now he is wildly tossing his head at the outset, and rolling his eyes fiercely from side to side without a word; nor can he control his panting breath, like a fearful bull in act to charge; he bellows,
  4. calling on the goddesses of nether hell. Soon will I rouse you to yet wilder dancing and pipe a note of terror in your ear. Soar away, O Iris, to Olympus on your honored course; while I unseen will steal into the halls of Heracles.
Chorus
  1. Alas alas! lament; the son of Zeus, flower of your city, is being cut down. Woe to you, Hellas! that will cast from you your benefactor, and destroy him as he dances in the shrill frenzy of Madness.
  2. She is mounted on her chariot, the queen of sorrow and sighing, and is goading on her steeds, as if for outrage, the Gorgon child of Night, with a hundred hissing serpent-heads, Madness of the flashing eyes.