CHORUS.
And a long brand that blackens: and white dust
ALTHAEA.
O children, what is this ye see? your eyes
Are blinder than night's face at fall of moon.
That is my son, my flesh, my fruit of life,
My travail, and the year's weight of my womb,
Meleager, a fire enkindled of mine hands
And of mine hands extinguished, this is he.
CHORUS.
O gods, what word has flown out at thy mouth?
ALTHAEA.
I did this and I say this and I die.
CHORUS.
Death stands upon the doorway of thy lips,
And in thy mouth has death set up his house.
ALTHAEA.