Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1896) v2.djvu/271

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At tidings of my travail will she come.

How?—deem'st thou, child, she careth aught for thee?

Yea—even to weeping for my babes' high birth!

Haply: yet goalward turn I back thy speech.

Let her but come, and surely is she dead.

Nay then, to the very house-door let her come.

Ay—short the bypath thence to Hades' gates!

Oh but to see this hour, then welcome death!

First, ancient, then, be guide unto this man.