To sate thy wrath? A mortal woman's hate
Has far excelled thine own. 'Twas late thy shame,1190
To feel thyself by Hercules alone
Outmatched; but now must thou confess thyself
By two o'ercome. Shame on such heavenly wrath!
Oh, that the Nemean lion of my blood
Had drunk his fill, and Oh, that I had fed
The hydra with his hundred snaky heads
Upon my gore! Oh, that the centaurs fierce1195
Had made a prey of me; or 'midst the shades