Ch. How is he? Dear lady, say:
Let us hear your tale, and know
Whether you have joy to-day,
Whether sorrow brings you low.
El. He is breathing still, but slightly groaning in his sleep alway.
Ch. O poor man! but tell us plainer what you say.
El. Hush! or you will scare the pleasant
Sleep that to his eyelid brings
Brief oblivion of the present.
Ch. Ah, thrice wretched race that springs
Burdened with the god-sent curses of abhorrèd deeds!
El. Ah, me:
Guilty was the voice of Phœbus, when enthroned for prophecy,
He decreed my mother's murder—mother murdered guiltily!
Ch. Look you, lady, on his bed,
How he gently stirs and sighs!
El. Woe is me! His sleep hath fled,
Frightened by your noisy cries!
Ch. Nay; I thought he sleeping lay.
El. Hence, I bid you, hence away
From the bedside, from the house!
Cease your noise;
Subdue your voice;
Stay not here to trouble us!