Would it were in my power and range to bring thee to the light from the chambers of Hades and the streams of Cocytus with the oar that sweeps yon nether flood! For thou, and thou alone, most dear of women, hadst the courage to redeem thy husband from Hades in exchange for thy own life. Light lie the earth above thee, lady! And if ever thy lord take to him a new wife, I vow he will earn my hatred and thy children’s too. Chorus His mother had no heart to plunge into the darkness of the tomb for her son, no! nor his aged sire. A line is here wanting in the MSS., but its absence does not destroy the sense. Their own child they had not the courage to rescue, the wretches! albeit they were grey-headed. But thou in thy youth and beauty hast died for thy lord and gone thy way. O be it mine to have for partner such a loving wife! for this lot is rare in life. Surely she should be my help-meet all my life and never cause one tear. Heracles Mine hosts, dwellers on this Phersean soil! say, shall I find Admetus in the house? Chorus The son of Pheres is within, Heracles. Tell me what need is bringing thee to the Thessalian land, to visit this city of the Pheraeans? Heracles I am performing a labour for Tirynthian Eurystheus. Chorus And whither art thou journeying? on what wandering art thou forced to go? Heracles To fetch the chariot-steeds of Thracian Diomedes. Chorus How canst thou? art a stranger to the ways of thy host? Heracles I am; for never yet have I gone to the land of the Bistones. Chorus Thou canst not master his horses without fighting. Heracles Still I cannot refuse these labours. Chorus Then shalt thou slay them and return, or thyself be slain and stay there. Heracles It will not be the first hard course that I have run. Chorus And what will be thy gain, suppose thou master their lord? Heracles The steeds will I drive away to the Tirynthian king. Chorus No easy task to bit their jaws. Heracles Easy enough, unless their nostrils vomit fire. Chorus With ravening jaws they rend the limbs of men. Heracles Thou speakest of the food of mountain beasts, not of horses. Chorus Their mangers blood-bedabbled thou shalt see. Heracles Whose son doth he who feeds them boast to be? Chorus Ares’ son, king of the golden targe of Thrace. Heracles This toil again is but a piece of my ill-luck; hard it ever is and still is growing steeper, if I with Ares’ own-begotten sons must fight, first with Lycaon, next with Cycnus, while now I am bound on this third contest to engage the horses and their master. Yet shall no man ever see Alcmena’s son trembling at his foemen’s prowess.