LEADER.
They tear men's flesh; their jaws are swift with blood.
HERACLES.
Men's flesh! 'Tis mountain wolves', not horses' food!
LEADER.
Thou wilt see their mangers clogged with blood, like mire.
HERACLES.
And he who feeds such beasts, who was his sire?
LEADER.
Ares, the war-lord of the Golden Targe.
HERACLES.
Enough!—This labour fitteth well my large
Fortune, still upward, still against the wind.
How often with these kings of Ares' kind
Must I do battle? First the dark wolf-man,
Lycaon; then 'twas he men called The Swan;
And now this man of steeds!… Well, none shall see
Alcmena's son turn from his enemy.
LEADER.
Lo, as we speak, this land's high governor,
Admetus, cometh from his castle door.
Enter ADMETUS from the Castle.
ADMETUS.
Zeus-born of Perseid line, all joy to thee!
HERACLES.
Joy to Admetus, Lord of Thessaly!