Surely this is Heracles I see? By his godhead, ’tis no other! The bow, the club, the lion’s-skin, the giant frame; 'tis Heracles complete. Yet how should this be?—a son of Zeus and mortal? I say, Mighty Conqueror, are you dead? I used to sacrifice to you in the other world; I understood you were a God!

Thou didst well. Heracles is with the Gods in Heaven, And hath white-ankled Hebe there to wife. I am his phantom.

His phantom! What then, can one half of any one be a God, and the other half mortal?

Even so. The God still lives. 'Tis I, his counterpart, am dead.