Who spied to find Achilles, and thro’ thee
Found him, alas! Thy Pyrrha was Achilles.
Chorus.
O daughter of Nereus old,1420
Queen of the nymphs that swim
By day in gleams of gold,
By night in the silver dim,
Forgive in pity, we pray,
Forgive the ill we have done.
Why didst thou hide this thing from us?