Art thou afraid? Wilt thou not be like him,
Perform thy bidden tasks, the monsters slay?
Prepare thy dauntless hand. Behold my breast,
So full of cares, lies open to thy stroke.1000
Smite: I forgive the deed; the very fiends,
The dread Eumenides, will spare thy hand.
But hark! I hear their dreadful scourges sound.
See! Who is that who coils her snaky locks,
And at her ugly temples brandishes
Two deadly[36] darts? Why dost thou follow me,1005