Thy crime is plain: bear thou what thou hast merited,
Guilt’s heavy lading;
But that fell Spirit, from sire to son inherited,
Perchance was aiding.
Black-mantled Mars through consanguineous gore
Borne onwards blindly,
Old horrors to atone, fresh Murder’s store
Upheaps unkindly.
ANTISTROPHE V.
O the king! the king! for thee