1 Pr. The ceremonies stay.
Tir. Chuse the darkest part o'the grove:
Such as ghosts at noon-day love.
Dig a trench, and dig it nigh
175 Where the bones of Laius lie;
Altars, raised of turf or stone,
Will the infernal powers have none.
Answer me, if this be done?
All Pr. 'Tis done.
Tir. Is the sacrifice made fit?
Draw her backward to the pit:
Draw the barren heifer back;
Barren let her be, and black.
Cut the curled hair, that grows
Full betwixt her horns and brows:
And turn your faces from the sun:
Answer me, if this be done?
All Pr. 'Tis done.
Tir. Pour in blood, and blood like wine,
To mother Earth and Proserpine:
Mingle milk into the stream;
Feast the ghosts that love the steam;
Snatch a brand from funeral pile;
Toss it in to make them boil:
And turn your faces from the sun:
Answer me, if all be done?
All Pr. All is done. [Peal of Thunder; and flashes of Lightning; then groaning below the stage.
Man. O, what laments are those?
Tir. The groans of ghosts, that cleave the heart with pain,
And heave it up: they pant and stick half-way. [The Stage wholly darkened.
Man. And now a sudden darkness covers all,
True genuine night, night added to the groves;
The fogs are blown full in the face of heaven.