Eumenides! aye wont to bind with viperous hair-locks
Foreheads,—Oh, deign outspeak fierce wrath from bosom outbreathing,
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Hither, Oh hither, speed, and lend ye all ear to my grievance,
Which now sad I (alas!) outpour from innermost vitals
Maugre my will, sans help, blind, fired with furious madness.
And, as indeed all spring from veriest core of my bosom,
Suffer ye not the cause of grief and woe to evanish;
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But wi' the Will wherewith could Theseus leave me in loneness,