Of savage Zethus, Dirce's famous fount,
And the Tyrian lares of our pilgrim king.
[To the attendants.]
Now throw the fragrant incense on the flames.
Amphitr.: O son, thy hands, all dripping with the blood
Of thy slain foe, thou first shouldst purify.
Hercules: Would that his hateful blood I might pour out920
Unto the gods; for no libation poured
Could stain the altars more acceptably.
No ampler, richer victim could be paid