Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1898) v3.djvu/144

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What aileth thee? What sickness ruineth thee?

Conscience!—to know I have wrought a fearful deed.

How mean'st thou? Clear is wisdom, not obscure.

Grief most of all is that which wasteth me,—

Dread Goddess she: yet is there cure for her.

And Madness, vengeance for a mother's blood.

And when began thy madness? What the day?

Whereon I heaped my wretched mother's grave.

At home, or as thou watchedst by the pyre?

In that night-watch for gathering of the bones.

Was any by, to raise thy body up?