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Thee, Admetus, in the bands

Of her stern unyielding hands

Hath she taken; but resign

Thy life to her—it is not thine

By thy weeping to restore

Those who look on light no more.

Even the bright sons of heaven

To dimness and to death are given.

She was loved when she was here;

And in death we hold her dear:

Let not her hallowed tomb be past

As where the common dead are cast;

Let her have honour with the blest

Who dwell above; her place of rest

When the traveller passeth by,

Let him say, 'Within doth lie

She who dared for love to die.

Thou who now in bliss dost dwell,

Hail, blest soul, and speed us well!

To combine in the same chapter Alcestis with Medea, may appear like yoking the lamb with the lion; and so it would be, were the Colchian princess the mere fury for which she is often taken. But Euripides had too deeply studied human character not to be aware that in nature there are no monsters—none at least lit for the ends of dramatic poetry; and