Clo. I spin thee a thread. Live, Admetus! Produce him!
Lac. Go,—brave, wise, good, happy! Now chequer the thread!
He is slaved for, yet loved by a god. I unloose him
A goddess-sent plague. He has conquered, is wed,
Men crown him, he stands at the height,—
Atr. He is ...
Apollo. (Entering: Light.) "Dead?"
Nay, swart spinsters! So I surprise you
Making and marring the fortunes of Man?
Huddling—no marvel, your enemy eyes you—