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112 And who would not bewail thee, brother, who thus art hurrying to death foreseen?

. If 'tis fate, I must die. . Nay, nay,—hear my pleading!

. Plead not amiss. . Then woe is me, indeed, if I must lose thee! . Nay, that rests with Fortune,—that end or another.—For you twain, at least, I pray the gods that ye never meet with ill; for in all men's eyes ye are unworthy to suffer.

[Exit, on spectators' left.

. Behold, new ills have newly come, in our hearing, from the sightless stranger,—ills fraught with a heavy doom; unless, perchance, Fate is finding its goal. For 'tis not mine to say that a decree of Heaven is ever vain: watchful, aye watchful of those decrees is Time, overthrowing some fortunes, and on the morrow lifting others, again, to honour.—Hark that sound in the sky!—Zeus defend us!

[Thunder is heard.

. My children, my children! If there be any man to send, would that some one would fetch hither the peerless Theseus!

. And what, father, is the aim of thy summons?

. This winged thunder of Zeus will lead me anon to Hades: nay, send, and tarry not.

[A second peal is heard.

. Hark! With louder noise it crashes down, unutterable, hurled by Zeus! The hair of my head stands up for fear, my soul is sore dismayed; for again the lightning flashes in the sky. Oh, to what event will