Out of peril, then might he fare wheresoever seemeth him best.
But for me—on the selfsame day when triumphant he bideth the test,
Then let me die, from the rafters straining my neck in the noose,
Or tasting of poisons that rend the soul from the body loose. {790}
Ah, but after my dying!—what scoffs and what mocks will they fling
On my grave!—and far and near how every city will ring
With the tale of my doom; and from lip to lip shall be tossed the jeer,
And a mock shall I be in the mouths of the daughters of Kolchis that sneer,
“Lo, she that so lovingly cared for a man of an alien race
That she died!—lo, she that on home and on parents heaped disgrace,