Of magic, and invoke the aid of Hecate;
The woe-producing sacrifices then prepare,
And let the sacred flames through all our courts resound.
Chorus: No force of flame or raging gale,
Or whizzing bolt so fearful is,580
As when a wife, by her lord betrayed,
Burns hot with hate.
Not such a force is Auster's blast,
When he marshals forth the wintry storms;
Nor Hister's headlong rushing stream,