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Rh That I, or dead or living, punished guilt.

Chor. Oh, wretched Hellas! what a weight of woe

Do I foresee if it shall lose this man!

Hyllos. Since thou, my father, lett'st me answer thee,

By this thy silence, hear in spite of pain,

For I will ask what 'tis but right to grant.

Give me thyself, not such as when thy wrath

Stings thee to frenzy; else thou shalt not know

In what thou wrongly seekest to rejoice,

In what thou wrongly grievest.

Hera. Say thy say,

And hold thy peace. I nothing understand,

In this my pain, of all thy glozing speech.

Hyllos. I come to tell thee of my mother's plight,

And how she sinned, yet most unwillingly.

Hera. Vilest of all the vile, and hast thou dared

To speak of her, thy murd'ress mother, to me?

Hyllos. So stands the case that silence would be wrong.

Hera. True, it were wrong, with all those sins of hers.

Hyllos. Thou wilt not speak thus of this day's offence.

Hera. Speak; but look to it, lest thou too prove base.

Hyllos. I speak, then. She is dead, but now laid low.

Hera. By whom? Strange portent tell'st thou with ill words.

Hyllos. By her own hand: no other struck the blow.

Hera. Ah me! Ere I could slay her as was meet?

Hyllos. Even thy wrath would melt, did'st thou know all.

Hera. Dread is thy preface, yet tell out thy tale.

Hyllos. In one short word, she sinned, desiring good.

Hera. Did she do good, thou vile one, slaying me?