University of Virginia Library

Act I.

Scene I.

—Pheræ—A Public Place. A crowd assembled. A band of youths and maidens preparing for the festival of Apollo. A march.
[Enter Admetus and Alcestis, attended.
Youths.
(strewing laurel).
Hail, great Admetus!

Maidens.
(strewing myrtle).
Fair Alcestis, hail!

Both.
All hail, beloved life of this our land!
Our head and heart, on this glad day, all hail!

Admetus.
Thanks, gentle friends.

Alcestis.
We thrive upon your love.

Admetus.
Where is our laurel-bearer?

A Youth.
Here, my Lord!

Admetus.
Come to the front. And you, fair girls, whose throats,
Nature's white organ-pipes, look beautiful
With their yet-voiceless music, after him
Marshal your virgin ranks; the shawms behind.
So—wait my signal. We'll enrich the day
With our glad hymns. How swells my heart, Alcestis,
This long-expected morn! Looks not the god
From his bliss-flaming car, whose radiance fills
The crystal courts of dawn, and drinks its mist
From the blue deep, with most auspicious eye
Upon our rites. This day I live indeed!

Alcestis.
What did'st thou yesterday?

Admetus.
I crawled till now
O'er the rude field of life, a careful grub,
Gathering the food of greatness; but to-day
Achievement's wings, bursting their larval shell,
Flash in the dew of the morn.

Alcestis.
O far, and high,
And happy be their flight! But cheapen not
The worth of our lived lives—the toils, the dangers,
The woes, despairs, defeats, that we have known,
And made so dear by sharing. That fair past,
Bought with our deedful days, is all our own,
The unpurchased future slave to no man's power.

Admetus.
I have no quarrel with the past, yet praise it
But as the past. The future's sunny peak,
Spied through its cloudy climbing, fills my gaze
With forward-looking joy.

Alcestis.
Ah! dear, the gods,
Who love us best, give not their gifts for nought—
They must be paid twice over.

Admetus.
Once with sorrow—
That's done, so now with joy. Therefore rejoice,
And pay them! Grace my triumph with the light
Of thy sweet face, that healed with tenderest hope
My day of failure, and I'm thewed more strong
To grapple with prosperity's evil brood,
Dangerous to-day, than when I fronted first
Life's perilous forehead; stronger by ten lives
Than even ten years ago, when—thou rememberest?
I tamed for thee, to draw thy nuptial car,
The lion and the bull. We have tamed since then
The earth, my Queen, and men more fell than beasts.

Alcestis.
In prime my brother. 'Twas a gentle deed—
Acastus needed taming. Yes, in sooth,
Those were sad years—those wars.

Admetus.
Two ghastly years
Of foolish war, to tear thee from me! Well,
They bound us all the tighter, thee and me;
And for Acastus' self his own defeat
Was nobler victory. We triumphed then
Not vainly o'er his arms but o'er his heart.

Alcestis.
Those wars were in Apollo's years.

Admetus.
Ay, still
The glorious god by our Thessalian streams
Pastured my breeding flocks. In those rude times
He made our little nook of the jarring world
Like a close wood that shrouds the nightingale
When tempest rends the heaven; or as a dell
A glow-worm's lamp charms from the waste of night.

Alcestis.
He sang us golden songs.

Admetus
He taught me wisdom,
Sweet as the Muses' singing, when their feet
Wander among the brooks and cloistered pines
Of Helicon; so sweet that in my soul,
It kindled hopes undying. While my ear
Holds its faint echoes even, I shine full-armed
In tranquil power—all great and glorious things
Seem possible for the world. Thou knowest how often
To my care-weighted pillow sleep has brought
Some virtuous word of it, for joy whereof
I have waked wondering.

Alcestis.
Are thy dreams not mine,
Even as thine own?

Admetus.
Thou art my wife indeed,
Dearer than life-blood. Well, thy king of dreams
Looks to thee now for his ambition's crown;
And with glad cheer I ask thy aid to-day,
To hold in mirth this sovran festival—
This dream come true. How long have we aspired
Yon ten-years-building temple of the god
To consecrate; to hear his oracle
Speak from the cavern cloven by the stroke
Of that caducean rod he drove our flocks
To pasture with, ere from his glorious hand,
In payment for the lyre, dark Hermes took it,
To drive the dead in Hades!

Alcestis.
I am thine
In triumph as defeat.

Admetus.
Have I not loved
Before all gods Apollo and the Nine;
Served them with genial rites; sequestered them
A garden from the wilderness of the world,
And taught all climes their worship? Io Pæan!
Bright Pythian, am I not become thy lyre,
And what barbarian hand shall rend my strings?

Alcestis.
Thou hast indeed in this rough world wrought wonders;
So great that sometimes—pardon me, sweet love,
Such word on such a day; my love, that yearns
To be thy glory's shield, creates perchance
Its visionary fears where none should cry—
But sometimes I have feared the jealousy
Of Zeus himself.

Admetus.
The wrath of Zeus? There speaks the core of thy fear?
O for twelve years of life, and let him blast me
With all his thunderbolts, my work shall stand,
And mortals bless my name!

Alcestis.
Ah! dear Admetus,
Tempt not his wrath. Think on the piteous fate
Of demi-gods he hath struck. Apollo's self
Could but avenge, not save, his mighty son,
The healer Æsculapius. Other gods
Live in the mutable world than bright Apollo,
And brook not slighting. Think how oft his peers
Have filled with tears of rage his radiant eyes,
Bacchus for Orpheus, Zeus for Phaethon,
And other griefs he hath borne.

Admetus.
Twelve years of life,
To outdo my dreams, and I'll defy the thunder.
But I have honoured Zeus and all the gods;
They have no cause for jealousy. Come, my love,
Give to festivity thy ill-boding heart,
And doom me life to-day, if death to-morrow.
Come; the great image, where our fostering god
Lives, breathes and moves in gold and ivory,
A flame of glorious youth, a joy, a terror,
A power to save or slay—so cunningly
The dædal hand of Cresilas hath carved
The vision of his soul—awaits unveiling;
And then thou shalt behold such gracious games,
Such wrestling, running, whirling the swift disc,
Such ardent striving of our beauteous youth,
That thou wilt say we have peopled Thessaly
With demi-gods; and after thou shalt hear
Nine laurelled bards, the best of Greece, contend,
Singing the fate of Linus, lyre against lyre.

Alcestis.
Our songtide swells to its rich May. I have heard
Glycon shall have the vote.

Admetus.
The women love him,
And plot his crowning; but our old Chrysippus,
His eyes aglow with an immortal fire,
Vows to outsing himself. 'Twill be rare singing.
Come then! How, as we move, the people's smile
Follows us still, as sunflowers seek the light.
This is to be a king! Trust me, Alcestis,
I do believe that were my life at pawn,
The meanest here would give his own in fee,
To ransom me.

Alcestis.
That were bare duty in him;
Yet death's a dreadful word—a dreadful word,
Even for the wretch who drags his load of pain
Through the world's weary places. How much more
For men whom thou hast given the wine of life
To drink in many a comfortable cup!
Will they give back thy gifts?

[The sun becomes gradually darkened.
Voices in the Crowd.
Alas! a portent!

Admetus.
What mean these cries? What stirs the wavering crowd,
That they turn pale and stare?

Alcestis.
O, my dear Lord,
Look what a shade eats up the bounteous sun!
The light of Hades dims the fields; the flocks
Huddle together trembling; the scared birds
Fly wild; the lark drops like a plummet, dumb;
The hawk cowers like the sparrow! What is this?
O, if Zeus arms to smite thee, clasp me close,
And let us stand one undistinguished mark
For his stern thunder!

Admetus.
Nay, my dearest love,
Comfort thy fluttering heart. I fear no evil.
O men of Pheræ! wherefore stand ye so,
With knees that knock each other? Shame upon you!
O fearful herds, not men, where are your souls;
Your human magnanimity, that should keep
Its balanced calm, though heaven came ruining down,
And all the gods, riding the thunderstorm,
Should threaten earth with chaos! Learn to die,
When die ye must, with such heroic grace
As fits the victor in some glorious game,
And have the gods for praisers. Here's no dying,
Though darkness comes ere noon. Ye dread no ill,
When night by night Apollo's fiery steeds
Plunge in the western wave, and stable there,
In the cerulean caverns of the deep,
To wake renewed next morn; and there's a cave
In the blue fields of heaven, where, year by year,
Leaving his stithy in the nether glooms,
Hephæstus forges for the Lord of Day
His golden chariot-wheels. What wonder then
That on this sacred morn his chariot pauses
A moment in that cave, while those swift hands
Fix the far-flashing fellies? Wait awhile,
And ye shall mark that radiant car come forth
In twofold brightness. Come, reform your ranks!
We'll hail it with a hymn, then to the temple. [Enter a Priest of Apollo.

What bodes this pale vancourier of fate?
Speak thy news low, as for my private ear;
Scare not the crowd with omens.

Priest.
O great King,
May heaven avert such omens from thy head,
And from thy people!

Admetus.
What's the matter now,
That it hath set thee gasping, like a calf
Hurt with the steel of death?

Priest.
O, my good Lord,
The image of the god—

Admetus.
Well, hath it spoken,
That thou should'st look so ghastly?

Priest.
Nay, my Lord,
The oracle hath spoken.

Alcestis.
And spoken ill?

Admetus.
What of this image, and this oracle?

Priest.
Even as we waited for the virgins' song,
Bright herald of thy coming, this wan gloom
Came creeping o'er the temple; and thereon
A moaning wind from the oracular cave
Swept through the house of the god, and reft away
The linen veil, thine own revealing hand
Should shortly have withdrawn; and, like the sun
From out a cloud, that wonder dawned on us;
But it wept tears of blood! The gory drops
Stained the fair ivory cheeks, and heavily
Fell in warm rain even to the sandalled feet,
Curdling upon the marble pedestal.

Alcestis.
What may this mean?

Admetus.
What says the oracle?

Priest.
My tongue scarce dares to phrase it, uttering ill.

Admetus.
My ear dares hear what ill thy tongue can utter.

Priest.
Sinew thy heart to hear; for death is dreadful.

Alcestis.
Death!

Admetus.
Ha! thy word, it seems, imports my death.
If so, speak plainly.

Alcestis.
Death!

Priest.
Thy death, O King!

Alcestis.
O no, no, no! mine, mine, or any one's,
So not the King's! This oracle, whose voice
We have waited, as a mother for her babe's,
To murder us thus! Will the just gods so blast
The hope of the young world? O not the King's!
Thou hast mistook, old man.

Priest.
Alas! dear Lady,
Would that it bore mistaking! When the Fates
Cast up their doom, not Zeus himself shall dare
To meddle with their mind; and now, even now,
Stern Atropos, with dull averted eyes,
Opens all wide the inexorable shears,
Which closed shall cut Admetus' golden thread.
Two hours before yon mourning orb goes down,
Thy life must stagnate in a three days' trance,
Which only death shall end. Thus saith the oracle.
So my black news is told.

Alcestis.
O I grow faint!

[She faints.
Admetus.
Thy news has killed my Queen before myself.
Go some of you and fetch my chariot here,
To bear her to the palace. Sweet Alcestis!
Rise up, my love, and help thy Lord to die.
Go thou, see to these rites—what ceremonies
May fitly be performed, perform. The games
Shall hold, though I die viewing them.
[Exit Priest.
Alcestis!
Heart of my life, look up! Day's blessed star
Comes flaming forth once more, and tenderly
Kisses thy clustering tresses. O, for shame,
To lose one moment of this latest hour
That we may live together!

Alcestis.
Ah! too weak,
Too weak to be thy wife! This sudden woe!
What shall I do for thee?

Admetus.
Be strong, be strong!
Help me to die as doth befit a king;
And reign thou in my stead. 'Tis hard to bear
This envy of the Fates. Twelve years, twelve years!
And I had smiled in Hades' wintry eyes,
Leaving a nation fledged, a sceptre firm
In my son's capable hand; but now I feel them
Chill, chill; but 'tis not fear. I trust Eumelus
For noble nurture to the gods and thee.
All may be well without me. We're grown old,
And ripe for death, when we consign the world
To wreck without our steering.

Alcestis.
My fair world
Is wrecked already.

Admetus.
Nay, not wrecked, not wrecked—
Dear, I have much to say and much to do,
Ere this sun set—of minutes to make hours.

Alcestis.
Is there no hope in heaven? O bright Apollo,
Is there no hope!

Admetus.
None, none—what should there be?
Poison me not with hope, nor drug thyself.
To business, come! I must dismiss this crowd
That stares and wonders still. O, ye Pheræans,
Let calm words calm the trouble of your minds!
Behold how faithfully the genial sun
Has kept my promise, and through cloudless heaven
Showers twofold radiance from his golden wheels!
The flocks again feed tranquilly; the lark
Mounts with a blissful hymn; and will your veins
Hold longer than these creatures' of the field
The ice of a vain fear? Shout to your god
Harmonious greeting! Form your ranks again,
And onward to the temple. Come, your hymn!

[Exeunt Youths and Maidens processionally, singing.
Admetus.
(to crowd)
Follow the singers, friends. What now the gods
Reveal imports no danger to the state.
I am your bulwark, and what falls on me
My shoulders can sustain. A brief farewell;
We meet you at the arena. Come, my love!

[Exeunt.

Scene II.

—The slopes of Mount Œta, on the borders of Thessaly. Enter Ægle, following her goats.
Ægle.
Roam as ye will, unruly beasts of mine—
I'll climb no further for you. O for the rod
With which Apollo charmed the wandering flocks
Of good Admetus! But poor mortals ever
Must take mere mortal trouble. I'll stand here,
On this sea-gazing crag, and let the breeze,
Fresh from the kiss of blue Ægean waves,
Play in my bosom. Ha! thou unmannered thing,
Wilt thou unbind my hair? Here, take it then,
And let it stream upon thee, wild and free,
As any nymph's of Dionysus' train—
I'll be Athena's mænad. Beautiful!
Let poets sing of Tempe; to my thought
This is the loveliest vale of all the earth.
There sleeps the Malian gulf no storm can rouse,
So close Eubœa folds it; to its breast
Leaps bold Spercheius from his rocky bed,
Crowned like a bard with laurels, fairer than
Those which they say do cluster round the head
Of Daphne's Peneus; far across the vale,
Where in the sun I see my mother's cot,
Ringed with its corn and olives, his hoar snows
Gleam o'er the pines of Othrys. Beautiful!
Such sun and air make me intoxicate
With a strange passion—joy, is it, or pain?
Or mingled both? O to abandon me
To some o'ermastering power, as to this wind,
Till it were joy to die for 't!

[Voice heard singing:
Ægle.
What comes here,
Striding the crest of Œta like a bull,
And bellowing gentle music? On my word
If labouring earth would find a droning-pipe,
To bear a cheerful burden, this were he!

[Enter Hercules.
Hercules.
Whom have we here? A nymph, gracious and tall,
And kilted short for climbing! What art thou?
An Oread of these mountains, or the fruit
Of a fair mortal mother by some god?

Ægle.
No Oread, sir; nor fathered by a god;
But a mere maiden, whom Evadne bore
To dead Alcander in yon vale.

Hercules.
What vale
Breeds such mere maidens?

Ægle.
These are Œta's slopes,
And yonder plain our dear Thessalian land.

Hercules.
Ha! Thessaly! I am in Thessaly?

Ægle.
But now; yon ridge parts us from Phocis.

Hercules.
Tell me,
Reigns King Admetus still? Is he well? Prosperous?

Ægle.
Even as the favourite of the gods. Thou know'st him—
And lovest; for thy face glows at the tale
Of his well-being.

Hercules.
Ay, I should know him well,
And love him well. The man was my dear comrade,
In deeds done in the world ere the world's eye
Was gladdened by thy face; but the world wags,
And we change favours, till the trustiest friends,
Who were more close than brothers, may pass by
Like maskers cloaked. Yet I should know Admetus.

Ægle.
Thou should'st be some great hero, by thy port;
And by thy club, and by thy lion's skin,
I guess thee Hercules.

Hercules.
Even he. Why laugh'st thou?

Ægle.
I know not why I laugh. May one not laugh
And know no reason for it?—Yet—I think—

Hercules.
What dost thou think?

Ægle.
That 'twas to hear a song
So tame, from a so mighty throat.

Hercules.
O ho!
What ailed the song?

Ægle.
Pshaw! 'twas a paltry song—
A milk-and-watery song. To hear the thunder
Intone a babyish lullaby! O ye gods!

Hercules.
Well, young one, laugh thy fill. What is thy name?

Ægle.
Ægle.

Hercules.
A sweet name—bright and gracious—Ægle!
A nymph-like name! So, thou'rt a judge of singing?

Ægle.
O, I have heard my grandsire, old Chrysippus,
Hymning the gods in such immortal strains
That I have wept to hear him. I have stood,
Tranced like a bird asleep in the air, while he
Hath sung me tales of old heroic deeds.
Thou wilt have heard his name? He is a bard
Thrice crowned; and this same day he will contend
Before Admetus, at Apollo's games,
With all the bards of Greece. My mother needs me,
Or I had seen this festival—O the bliss
To hear them sing!

Hercules.
Would'st thou not see them run,
And wrestle, then?

Ægle.
That too; but O the singing!
To see my grandsire crowned! I have offered daily
The laurels of our vale to King Apollo,
Bright with his Daphne's tears; have gathered for
The Muses pensive pansies—save for her,
Whose lyric breath makes musical the heart
Of the lorn nightingale, Calliope,
Whom most our bards invoke. Her I have wooed
To be propitious with the sweetest flower
That breathes its soul in the woods, the violet—once
Dimmed with the blood of Orpheus, her great son,
When the mad Mænads tore him.

Hercules.
Meetly done;
But I would see these games. How far to Pheræ?

Ægle.
Three days a-foot. Thou art too late. Three days
The games will hold, no more.

Hercules.
Yet I'll push on—
It lies upon my way—and see Admetus.

Ægle.
Would I were free as thou! I saw him once—
'Twas when he made procession through the land,
To test his people's thriving. But that his head,
A little bent, for thought, and some sad lines
About the mouth and eyes, proclaimed him mortal,
He might have been Apollo's self come down,
To heal the suffering world—stern and yet loving,
A radiant awe, not terror. Why art thou
Not awful; yet a hero?

Hercules.
Why art thou
Not bashful, yet a maiden?

Ægle.
Nay, I know not.
But O the Queen!

Hercules.
Alcestis! sawest thou her?

Ægle.
Ay, she was with him. Her divinest face,
Where love lay fathomless in beauty's deep,
Gave me dim eyes and choking at the throat,
As noble deeds do chanted. To meet her look,
Sad as Demeter's with its weight of love,
Was to grow pure; the melody of her smile
Was silent blessing. I was never rich
In happy thoughts of life till I saw her.

Hercules.
Why 'tis a peerless Queen! I'll to the court,
And see its jewel, though I take no prize.

Ægle.
Thou would'st have wrestled shrewdly, though for singing,
Zeus framed thee not.

Hercules.
Wert thou the wrestler's prize,
Methinks these arms could wrestle with the best.

Ægle.
I am no prize for wrestlers, Hercules!
Rate me not thus, a free Thessalian maid,
With captives and barbarians. Thou growest fond!

Hercules.
Thou'rt a strange girl. Alack! the best of us
May Zeus unstate. But the bright day grows old—
I'll seek some harbour in yon vale of yours,
And food withal, and wine.

Ægle.
I'll be thy guide.
My mother loves not strangers; but for thee,
Admetus' friend, the best of what we have
Will be thy least of welcome. Thou shalt taste
The vintage of our valley. As we go,
Tell me, I pray, thy labour ended last,
And what thou goest to now.

Hercules.
Both lightly told—
The Cretan Bull's in Argos; and I go
To drive away the steeds of Diomed
From Thrace.

Ægle.
What are those steeds?

Hercules.
For oats and hay,
They munch up men, I'm told. Strange things I've seen,
But these not yet.

Ægle.
Alas! what things there be
In this bright world! Thee, too, they will devour.

Hercules.
I hope not. Wilt thou shed a tear for me,
If I be eaten?

Ægle.
Tears are precious pearls—
I've none to grace thy pall.

Hercules.
If thou'lt not weep,
I'll not be eaten. Come, I grow so hungry
That I am tempted sore to eat thyself—
Thou art but a mouthful for me.

Ægle.
Heaven forefend!
Thou'rt a most dangerous monster. Follow me down!
A kid shall be my ransom from thy jaws.

[Exeunt.

Scene III.

—Temple of Apollo. Enter Alcestis and Euphranor, meeting.
Alcestis.
The King's in deepest trance! At last I come,
A suppliant, as thou see'st, from tendence on him
Most miserably freed—wearier than all
My worn-out messengers. Once more I'll rack
Thy tortured ear: O, is the oracle
Still dumb?

Euphranor.
Still dumb, O Queen! The Pythoness
Still sleeps; and none dare break her rest.

Alcestis.
Still dumb!
Were all the lustral rites performed?

Euphranor.
All, Madam.
The sacred virgins led her secretly,
In silence, to the deepest cavern, where,
Still fasting, her chaste body in the brook
Seven times she laved; then, donning her white stole,
She plucked three leaves from great Apollo's tree,
And chewed them; and with nine her head she crowned;
But ere she touched the tripod fell this sleep
From heaven upon her eyes. The virtuous boughs
Of our unfading laurel, whispering still
With each oracular air the cavern breathes,
Bend o'er her rest. If her pale lips but move,
A hierophant stands by to note it. Madam,
I pray your patience; for I grow to think
Some great deliverance will be wrought.

Alcestis.
O thanks!
For any word of comfort take my thanks!
But go thyself into the inmost shrine—
Note her thyself. Alas! I am grown mad,
And would importune Zeus, or Death himself,
Or the unyielding Fates, to medicine me
With hope, as dying men clutch bitterest balms.
Have pity on thy Queen, and go once more!
I'll kneel and wrestle here till I drop dead,
Or win some comfort—go!

Euphranor.
Dear Queen, I go.
Would I were Zeus, so I might staunch with joy
The fountains of thine eyes.

[Exit Euphranor.
Alcestis.
O kind Apollo!
Who didst so cherish us once, wilt thou forget
Admetus now, when not to succour him
Were but to blight thy favour's opening May
With a thrice-bitter frost! Thou who dost know
Thyself both love and tears, who owest Death
Many a deep grudge, look now upon our love,
Which soared its lark-like flight, a mounting hymn
In thine own praise, struck bloodily in full song
By this most cruel hawk. What tower of crime
Can any god o'erturn upon the head
Of this, thy friend, save too much trust in thee?
O save him now, and save thy glorious name
On the warm lips of men, thy holiest praise
In their adoring hearts!
[Re-enter Euphranor.
What now?

Euphranor.
O Queen,
The Pythoness hath spoken in her trance,
Marvellous things! Apollo stands before
The never-lifted veil; his radiant self
An earnest-pleading voice. He's dumb but now,
While the all-dreaded Three, in silence dread,
Look in each other's eyes, to read the doom
Of thy great consort.

Alcestis.
Silence guard my life
From sinful thought in this grim hour of doom!

[A pause; then enter a Priest suddenly.
Alcestis.
O, is there help in heaven?

Priest.
Ay, help in heaven,
So there be help on earth.

Alcestis.
What dost thou mean?

Priest.
Admetus lives, if there be found a friend
To die for him.

Alcestis.
To die for him? A friend?
Must then some man, or may a woman die?

Priest.
A man or woman, Madam.

Alcestis.
Gentle Fates,
I thank you for this doom! He's saved! he's saved!

[Exit Priest.
Euphranor.
Alas! what means this sudden ecstacy?

Alcestis.
My Lord is saved!

Euphranor.
How saved? Will any die
To save his friend? Yet for the King we'll make
All proclamation—

Alcestis.
Proclamation, man!
What proclamation? Who should be his friend,
But I—his wife?

Euphranor.
Thou? Thou wilt die for him!
O prodigy of love!

Alcestis.
No prodigy,
Save love's a thing prodigious—love that lives
By looking in death's eyes. Will soldiers die
For hate, and wives not die for love? Will men
Hold their lives cheap, and risk them every day
On perilous seas, high scaffolds, in dark mines,
For a poor piece of bread; in games, brawls, battles,
For praise, gain, duty; and shall women fear
To die for love's sweet sake? O where's the wife,
That mounts the nuptial bed, but ere she sees
The darling first-born face outfaces death
In the warm nest of love? I die to-day—
I might have died to-morrow, when my death
Gained no great life for the world. Admetus lives:
I triumph over death in this strong son
I bring again to mightier birth.

Euphranor.
O, Queen,
Thy words are as a wind that bows my head
In trembling awe! My life is but a reed,
Shaken, astonied, fluttered. I am not
The stolid thing I was. What can I say?
O let me kiss thy feet!

Alcestis.
Stand up, stand up!
Kneel to the gods, not me.

Euphranor.
But let me still
Make proclamation.

Alcestis.
Ay, proclaim the doom—
Say not a word of me—we'll test the love
Of all this people. What if they come in crowds,
Clamorous for death, to put their Queen to shame—
How wilt thou hold me then?

Euphranor.
Not less their Queen.

Alcestis.
Farewell till then.

Euphranor.
Farewell, O peerless wife!