ADMETUS.
Right welcome were she!—But thy love I know.
HERACLES.
But why this mourning hair, this garb of woe?
ADMETUS (in a comparatively light tone).
There is a burial I must make to-day.
HERACLES.
God keep all evil from thy children!
ADMETUS.
Nay,
My children live.
HERACLES.
Thy father, if 'tis he,
Is ripe in years.
ADMETUS.
He liveth, friend, and she
Who bore me.
HERACLES.
Surely not thy wife? 'Tis not
Alcestis?
ADMETUS (his composure a little shaken).
Ah; two answers share my thought,
Questioned of her.
HERACLES.
Is she alive or dead?