Adm. Had I driven from my house a new-come guest,
Would you have praised me? No! I had not lost
My grief, but rather hospitality;
And such impeachment of my house had been
Another added to my present ills.
Besides, when I to thirsty Argos go,
Then this my guest is my most worthy host.
Chor. Why did you then from such a friend conceal Your present trouble?
Had he known my grief,
He never would have gone within my doors.
Yet will he think I was not wise in this-
He'll not like it; but my roof knows not how
To turn away and to dishonour guests.
[He goes into the Palace.
Chor. House! where a liberal spirit is dwelling,
In hospitable grace excelling,
Under thy roof the bright Apollo,
The master of the golden lyre,
Dwelt a shepherd, in the days
That on his steps the flocks did follow
O'er hill and slope with glad desire
To hear his pastoral lays.
Then with the flocks were wont to hie,
Such influence had his minstrelsy!
The spotted lynxes, meek and tame ;
And then were scen, from Othrys drawn,
Tawny lions in his train;
And from the tall pine-forest came,
With a light foot, the dappled fawn,
Rejoicing in the strain.
So in a place that most excels
In flocks and herds Admetus dwells,
Where Ossa his tall shadow flings
O'er Babe, lake of freshest springs :
The boundary of his domains,
Of eared fields and pasture plains,
Is the Molossian clime that lies
Toward the region of the skies,
Where glide the coursers of the sun
Into the dusk, their day's work done;
And his sway doth to Pelion reach,
Far as the Ægean's portless beach.
And now the guest-rooms open lie,
And he the guest with courtesy
Bade welcome, though with eyelid wet:
He lingers with the lost one yet,
And o'er the corse his tears doth shed,
Lamenting o'er his newly dead.
The noble nature well is known
By sense of honour, felt and shown.
It seems a spirit of wisdom true
Is in the good, in all they do ;
And on this truth my soul doth rest,
The godly always fare the best.
ADMETUS enters, followed by the bearers with the body of ALCESTIS. Adm. My kind Phereans! these attendants now
Convey the corse with honour to the tomb.
Salute ye, as the custom is, the dead,
That now upon her latest journey goes.
Chor. Here comes your sire, with the slow foot of age; And his train follows with his funeral gifts,
And ornaments, in honour of the dead.
Enter PHERES and Train.
Pher. I'm come, my son, in very sympathy;
A good wife and a chaste you've lost indeed,
Yet this affliction, though hard to be borne,
You must e'en bear: accept these offerings,
And let them go with her under the ground.
'Tis fit her body should have honour due,
Since by a voluntary death she saved
Thy life, nor let my age in sorrow pine
From being childless. She has left behind
The memory of a life, that to her sex
Gives glory, from the lustre of this deed.
My son's preserver, our support, farewell!
In Hades' mansion be it well with thee!
Such marriage profits men, else better far
Not to submit unto the marriage yoke.
Adm. Thou'rt come unbidden to this funeral,
Nor do I count thy presence that of friend.
Thy funeral gifts and offerings I refuse;
Owing thee nothing shall she be interred.
My danger was thy time for sympathy;
Dost thou mourn her, that then didst stand aloof?
Thou that, being old, didst let a young one die?
No father thou of mine, nor was I born
Of my reputed mother, but some slave
Brought me to light, and I was privily placed
At thy wife's breast. No! thou art not my father,
Thy conduct clearly showed my thought is right;
Else no man ever was so mean of spirit,
That thou at such an age, the goal of life,
For thy own son shouldst lack the heart to die!
But didst permit a woman, of no kin,
Whom I may well esteem both sire and mother,
To die instead. Yet dying for thy son,
Thy life had then been finished with renown;
And think how short its small remainder is;
Then had my wife and I both lived together,
Nor I been left to groan in widowhood.
And thou hast tasted all the joys of life;
Thy flower of manhood passed in sovereignty,
And I, thy son, succeeded to thy place;
So that not childless hadst thou left thy house
For others to despoil. Nor canst thou say
I ever did dishonour thine old age,
For I have showed thee greatest reverence.
But what return had I from both my parents!
Get other children without loss of time
To nourish thine old age, and deck thy corse,
And lay it out; for I'll not bury thee,
Since for thy part I had been dead ere now.
If I've found other to preserve my life,
I owe that other filial care and love.
The prayer the old make for death is vain pretence,
Of age complaining, and life's weary hours;
For soon as death comes near, not one is found
Willing to die; age then no burden is.
Chor. Cease! for the present wo is quite enough :
Nor thou, the son, provoke thy father's wrath.
Pher. Whom do you take me for? a Lydian slave,
Or else a Phrygian purchased with your coin,
That you revile me thus? know'st not I am
Free born, Thessalian, of Thessalian sire?
You're over-bold, but shall not go hence plumed
With triumph of youth's reckless insolence.
I gat and reared you for my successor;
I'm not your debtor bound to die for you.
That fathers for their issue are condemned
To pay great Nature's debt, is not Greek law,
Nor one hereditary in my house.
You for yourself, for good or ill, were born;
Whate'er was due to you from me, you have;
Your present sway is great; and I will leave you
The territories I inherited.
How have I wronged, of what defrauded you?
Die not for me; for you I will not die.
Think you I take no pleasure in the light,
To you so pleasant? I count long the time
That we must spend below, and this life brief,
But very sweet. You shrank, like a poltroon,
From death, and, making her your victim, 'scaped ;
Shamed by the woman that durst die for you,
The handsome youth! Dost call me meau of soul?
A fine invention for escaping death,
If you can substitute, from time to time,
A cozened wife! How dare you, being a coward,
Reproach your friends with selfish backwardness?
But hold your peace, and only just consider,
If you love your life, all alike love theirs ;
And if you speak against us, how much more,
More truly, may be said against yourself.
Chor. Too much of this has been already said:
Desist, old man, nor thus reproach thy son.
Adm. Say on; if the truth jars upon your car, You should not err against me.
I had erred Much rather, if I had, to save you, died.
Adm. Is it the same for youth and age to die?
Pher. Each has a single life; that should content us.
Adm. For aught I care, live longer e'en than Zeus!
Pher. Dost curse thy parents without wrong from them?
Adm. I knew you were enamoured of long life.
Pher. Is not this corse in thy stead now borne out?
Adm. A proof this of thy penury of spirit.
Pher. 'Twas not for me she died!
Adm.
Ah! may you want me!
Pher. Woo many wives, that more may die for thee.
Adm. That thou didst shrink from it, is thy reproach.
Pher. Dear, oh, how dear, the blessed light of heaven
Adm. Mean is thy spirit, unworthy of a man.
Pher. That is no corse of age-for your derision.
Adm. Inglorious will your end be, when it comes.
Pher. When dead, I shall not care what's said of me.
Adm. Alas! how shameless is old age!
Pher.
Not shameless--but you found her mad indeed.
Adm. Begone! and let me bury now my dead.
Pher. I'll go; and thou, her slayer, bury her!
Her kinsmen yet will call thee to account,
Or else indeed Acastus is no man,
Except he avenge on thee his sister's death.
Adm. Begone! thou and thy mate in childless age
Live, as ye merit, though your child yet lives.
For never shall ye come beneath my roof;
And if 'twere needful to renounce thy hearth
By heralds, I would e'en renounce it so.
But since we must, my friends, bear this infliction,
Let us with the procession now advance.
[PHERES withdraws; on the other side ADMETUS and the Funeral Train depart, the CHORUS chanting the Dirge.
Chor. Alas! to thy own ruin bold,
Oh passing noble, and high-souled!
Farewell! may Hermes on the way
To thee all gentle kindness pay;
And may great Dis receive thee well!
If ever good the good befell
In the under-world, that come to thee,
Sitting beside Persephone!
[While the Funeral Train retires, a Servant
advances from the Palace.
Serv. I've at the hearth received many a guest,
From many a land, for whom I've spread the feast,
But never worse than this. In the first place,
He saw my lord in grief, yet entered in;
Next, for his fare, such as it chanced to be,
Made no allowance, knowing our distress,
But loudly roared for any thing he lacked;
Then in both hands he seized an ivy goblet,
And quaffed the pure juice of the purple mother,
Until the flame o' the wine enkindled him ;
And then with myrtle-wreath he crowned himself,
And howled discordantly snatches of song.
There were two strains to hear; for while he sang,
Without a thought of our domestic wo,
We servants were bewailing our lost lady:
We did not let him see our eyes were wet,
For so Admetus ordered. I mean-while
Must entertain this stranger, vagabond!
But she is gone, nor I did follow her,
Nor stretch my hand, lamenting my lost mistress,
Who was e'en as a mother to us all;
For from a thousand ills she saved us,
Appeasing for us oft her husband's ire.
Is it not justly then I hate this stranger,
Who has intruded on us in our grief?
Her. Hark you, why do you look so grave and thoughtful?
A servant should receive his master's guests,
Not with a puckered brow, but cheerfully.
You show to me, that am your master's friend,
Contracted brow and gloomy countenance,
Only because of some out-door distress.
Come, learn of me, and be a wiser man.
Know you the way of life and its events?
I think not-but, indeed, how should you? Hark!
Death is a debt that all mankind must pay;
None knows if he shall be alive to-morrow;
For slippery fortune is uncertain ever,
Cannot be learnt, nor be found out by skill.
Drink and be merry; and consider life
To be thine own only from day to day-
The rest is Fortune's. Honour Cytherea,
Sweetest of deities to mortal men,
For she to them is goddess most benign.
If you suppose me right-I think I am,—
Leave your dark thoughts and follow my advice.
Will you not then quit your excessive grief,
Go in, and crown yourself, and drink with me?
I know right well the wine-cup's generous gush
Will clear your brow, and cleanse your mind of gloom.
Mortals should entertain such sentiments
As suit their mortal state: to them, methinks,
That wear their visages to sorrow set,
Life is not truly life but wretchedness.
Serv. We know it; but the feast, laughter, and mirth, Are quite unsuited to our present state.
Her. Grieve not so much; the lady was a stranger
The rulers of the mansion are alive.
Serv. Alive? do you not know our sad mischance?
Her. I do, unless your master did deceive me.
Serv. He is too hospitable.
Her. Is there some wo he did not tell me of?
Serv. Farewell! our master's trouble toucheth us.
Her. Your words express more grief than for a stranger.
Serv. Your revels, in that case, had not disturbed me.
Her. Have I then been ill-treated by my host?
Serv. You did not come at a convenient time;
Grief is among us, and you see our hair
Is shorn, our dress is of the mourning hue.
Her. But who is dead? one of the children gone? Or his old father?
Her. What? his wife dead? and yet did he receive me?
Serv. He scrupled to repel you from his house.
Her. Unhappy man!-Oh, what a loss is thine!
Serv. Not only she, with her we all are lost.
Her. I thought 'twas some misfortune, when I saw His woful face, shorn hair, and weeping eyes;
But saying 'twas a stranger's funeral,
He did deceive me; and against my will
I went within his doors, drank, crowned myself,
And revelled while he was in his affliction.
And yet you told me not of this distress!
Where does he bury her? where can I find him?
Serv. On the high-road that to Larissa leads,
Just past the city gate, you will observe
The tomb of marble shining to the view.
What sort of son Alcmena bore to Zeus.
Her. My much-tried heart! my soul! exhibit now
The newly-dead Alcestis must I rescue,
And to this house restore, to kind Admetus
Doing a work of kindness in return.
I'll go, and watch for Death, the black-robed king
Of the Departed; if, as I expect,
I find him near the tomb, drinking the blood
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