For crime so great? O sire of Hercules,
Destroy me with thy hurtling thunderbolt,
Thy guilty daughter. With no common dart
Arm thine avenging hand; but use that shaft
With which, had Hercules ne'er sprung from thee,850
Thou wouldst have scorched the hydra. As a pest
Unprecedented smite me, as a scourge
Far worse to bear than any stepdame's wrath.
Such bolt as once at wandering Phaëthon
Thou hurledst, aim at me. For I myself