Speak; for thou hast somewhat to tell that touches me.ChorusThen speak I will, though twice to die were mine. O mistress mine! never shalt thou hold a babe within thy arms or clasp him to thy breast.

CreusaAh me! would I were dead!Old ServantMy daughter!CreusaO woe is me for my calamity! Mine is a heritage of suffering and woe that poisons life, good friends.Old ServantAh, my child, ’tis death to us!CreusaAh me! ah me! grief drives its weapon through this heart of mine.Old ServantStay thy lamentations.CreusaNay, but sorrow lodges here.Old ServantTill we learn—