and holy earth, the bounteous mother, causes joy to spring in heavenly breasts. Chorus O white-winged bark, that o’er the booming ocean-wave didst bring my royal mistress from her happy home, to crown her queen ’mongst sorrow’s brides! Surely evil omens from either port, at least from Crete, were with that ship, what time to glorious Athens it sped its way, and the crew made fast its twisted cable-ends upon the beach of
 Munychus, and on the land stept out. Chorus Whence comes it that her heart is crushed, cruelly afflicted by Aphrodite with unholy love; so she by bitter grief o’erwhelmed will tie a noose within her bridal bower to fit it to her fair white neck, too modest for this hateful lot in life, prizing o’er all her name and fame, and striving thus to rid her soul of passion’s sting. Messenger Help! Messenger lines attributed to the Nurse in the Greek. ho! To the rescue all who near the palace stand! She hath hung herself, our queen, the wife of Theseus. Chorus Woe worth the day! the deed is done; our royal mistress is no more, dead she hangs in the dangling noose. Messenger Haste! Messenger lines attributed to the Nurse in the Greek. some one bring a two-edged knife wherewith to cut the knot about her neck! 1st Half Chorus Friends, what shall we do? think you we should enter the house, and loose the queen from the tight-drawn noose? 2nd Half Chorus Why should we? Are there not young servants here? To do too much is not a safe course in life. Messenger Lay Messenger lines attributed to the Nurse in the Greek. out the hapless corpse, straighten the limbs. This was a bitter way to sit at home and keep my master’s house! [Exit Messenger. Chorus She is dead, poor lady, so I hear. Already are they laying out the corpse. Theseus Ladies, can ye tell me what the uproar in the palace means? There came the sound of servants weeping bitterly to mine ear. None of my household deign to open wide the gates and give me glad welcome as a traveller from prophetic shrines. Hath aught befallen old Pittheus? No. Though he be well advanced in years, yet should I mourn, were he to quit this house. Chorus ’Tis not against the old, Theseus, that fate, to strike thee, aims this blow; prepare thy sorrow for a younger corpse. Theseus Woe is me! is it a child’s life death robs me of? Chorus They live; but, cruellest news of all for thee, their mother is no more. Theseus What! my wife dead? By what cruel mischance?