And let her fiercely blazing locks outshine
Her marriage torches! Lo, my prayer is heard:
Thrice have replied the hounds of Hecate,840
And she has shown her baleful, gleaming fires.
Now all is ready: hither call my sons,
And let them bear these presents to the bride.
[Enter sons.]
Go, go, my sons, of hapless mother born,845
And win with costly gifts and many prayers
The favor of the queen, your father's wife.