But thy long years of work, thy constant toils,
Have for thy woe some evil sickness bred.
Hercules: Sickness, say'st thou? Where may this sickness be?
Does any evil still upon the earth
Exist, with me alive? But let it come.
Let someone quickly bring my bow to me—1400
But no: my naked hands will be enough.
Now bid the monster come.
Alcmena: Alas, his pains,
Too great, have reft his senses quite away.