HER. Son of what sire does their owner boast to be?
CHOR. Of Mars, prince[[28]] of the Thracian target, rich with gold.
HER. And this labor, thou talkest of, is one my fate compels me to (for it is ever hard and tends to steeps); if I must join in battle with the children whom Mars begat, first indeed with Lycaon, and again with Cycnus, and I come to this third combat, about to engage with the horses and their master. But none there is, who shall ever see the son of Alcmena fearing the hand of his enemies.
CHOR. And lo! hither comes the very man Admetus, lord of this land, from out of the palace.
ADMETUS, HERCULES, CHORUS.
ADM. Hail! O son of Jove, and of the blood of Perseus.
HER. Admetus, hail thou too, king of the Thessalians!
ADM. I would I could receive this salutation; but I know that thou art well disposed toward me.
HER. Wherefore art thou conspicuous with thy locks shorn for grief?
ADM. I am about to bury a certain corse this day.