beyond my blackest expectation. Ah, my child! how little did I ever dream that such would be your marriage, a captive, and of Argos too! Give up the torch to me; you do not bear its blaze aright in your wild frantic course, nor have your afflictions left you in your sober senses, but still you are as frantic as before. Take in those torches, Trojan friends, and for her wedding madrigals weep your tears instead.