And bared my breast, and cried, Kill me, O son!
And thou fastened’st thy snaky eyes upon me,
So that I could not see what thy hand did.
But, oh! I knew. I heard thy weapon grate
Leaving the scabbard, and a fiery pang
Pierced through my heart. Ah!
Ner. (aside). Heavens, is she mad?—
Mother, good mother, mother!
Agr. ’Twas nothing. Nay, where am I? I was come
To hear thy speech. What is’t thou hast to say?