My mistress bids me, with what speed I may,
Call in Aegisthus to the stranger guests,
That he may come, and standing face to face,
A man with men, may thus more clearly learn
This rumour new. Thus speaking, to her slaves
She hid beneath the glance of fictive grief
Laughter for what is wrought—to her desire
Too well; but ill, ill, ill besets the house,
Brought by the tale these guests have told so clear.
And he, God wot, will gladden all his heart
Hearing this rumour. Woe and well-a-day!
The bitter mingled cup of ancient woes,
Hard to be borne, that here in Atreus’ house
Befel, was grievous to mine inmost heart,
But never yet did I endure such pain.
All else I bore with set soul patiently;
But now—alack, alack!—Orestes dear,
The day and night-long travail of my soul!
Whom from his mother’s womb, a new-born child,
I clasped and cherished! Many a time and oft
Toilsome and profitless my service was,
When his shrill outcry called me from my couch!
For the young child, before the sense is born,
Hath but a dumb thing’s life, must needs be nursed
As its own nature bids. The swaddled thing
Hath nought of speech, whate’er discomfort come—
Hunger or thirst or lower weakling need,—
For the babe’s stomach works its own relief.
Which knowing well before, yet oft surprised,
’Twas mine to cleanse the swaddling clothes—poor I
Was nurse to tend and fuller to make white;
Two works in one, two handicrafts I took,
When in mine arms the father laid the boy.
And now he’s dead—alack and well-a-day!
Yet must I go to him whose wrongful power
Pollutes this house—fair tidings these to him!
CHORUS
Say then, with what array she bids him come?
KILISSA
What say’st thou! Speak more clearly for mine ear.
CHORUS
Bids she bring henchmen, or to come alone?
KlLISSA
She bids him bring a spear-armed body-guard.
CHORUS
Nay, tell not that unto our loathèd lord,
But speed to him, put on the mien of joy,
Say, _Come along, fear nought, the news is good:_
A bearer can tell straight a twisted tale.
KILISSA
Does then thy mind in this new tale find joy?
CHORUS
What if Zeus bid our ill wind veer to fair?
KILISSA
And how? the home’s hope with Orestes dies.
CHORUS
Not yet—a seer, though feeble, this might see.
KILISSA
What say’st thou? Know’st thou aught, this tale belying?
CHORUS
Go, tell the news to him, perform thine hest,—
What the gods will, themselves can well provide.
KILISSA
Well, I will go, herein obeying thee;
And luck fall fair, with favour sent from heaven.
[_Exit._
CHORUS
Zeus, sire of them who on Olympus dwell,
Hear thou, O hear my prayer!
Grant to my rightful lords to prosper well
Even as their zeal is fair!
For right, for right goes up aloud my cry—
Zeus, aid him, stand anigh!
Into his father’s hall he goes
To smite his father’s foes.
Bid him prevail! by thee on throne of triumph set,
Twice, yea and thrice with joy shall he acquit the debt.
Bethink thee, the young steed, the orphan foal
Of sire beloved by thee, unto the car
Of doom is harnessed fast.
Guide him aright, plant firm a lasting goal,
Speed thou his pace,—O that no chance may mar
The homeward course, the last!
And ye who dwell within the inner chamber
Where shines the storèd joy of gold—
Gods of one heart, O hear ye, and remember;
Up and avenge the blood shed forth of old,
With sudden rightful blow;
Then let the old curse die, nor be renewed
With progeny of blood,—
Once more, and not again, be latter guilt laid low!
O thou who dwell’st in Delphi’s mighty cave,
Grant us to see this home once more restored
Unto its rightful lord!
Let it look forth, from veils of death, with joyous eye
Unto the dawning light of liberty;
And Hermes, Maia’s child, lend hand to save,
Willing the right, and guide
Our state with Fortune’s breeze adown the favouring tide.
Whate’er in darkness hidden lies,
He utters at his will;
He at his will throws darkness on our eye
By night and eke by day inscrutable.
Then, then shall wealth atone
The ills that here were done.
Then, then will we unbind,
Fling free on wafting wind
Of joy, the woman’s voice that waileth now
In piercing accents for a chief laid low;
And this our song shall be—
_Hail to the commonwealth restored!
Hail to the freedom won to me!
All hail! for doom hath passed from him, my well-loved lord!_
And thou, O child, when Time and Chance agree,
Up to the deed that for thy sire is done!
And if she wail unto thee, _Spare, O son_—
Cry, _Aid, O father_—and achieve the deed,
The horror of man’s tongue, the gods’ great need!
Hold in thy breast such heart as Perseus had,
The bitter woe work forth,
Appease the summons of the dead,
The wrath of friends on earth;
Yea, set within a sign of blood and doom,
And do to utter death him that pollutes thy home.
[_Enter Aegisthus_.
AEGISTHUS
Hither and not unsummoned have I come;
For a new rumour, borne by stranger men
Arriving hither, hath attained mine ears,
Of hap unwished-for, even Orestes’ death.
This were new sorrow, a blood-bolter’d load
Laid on the house that doth already bow
Beneath a former wound that festers deep.
Dare I opine these words have truth and life?
Or are they tales, of woman’s terror born,
That fly in the void air, and die disproved?
Canst thou tell aught, and prove it to my soul?
CHORUS
What we have heard, we heard; go thou within
Thyself to ask the strangers of their tale.
Strengthless are tidings, thro’ another heard;
Question is his, to whom the tale is brought.
AEGISTHUS
I too will meet and test the messenger,
Whether himself stood witness of the death,
Or tells it merely from dim rumour learnt:
None shall cheat me, whose soul hath watchful eyes.
[_Exit._
CHORUS
Zeus, Zeus! what word to me is given?
What cry or prayer, invoking heaven,
Shall first by me be utterèd?
What speech of craft? nor all revealing,
Nor all too warily concealing—
Ending my speech, shall aid the deed?
For lo! in readiness is laid
The dark emprise, the rending blade;
Blood-dropping daggers shall achieve
The dateless doom of Atreus’ name,
Or—kindling torch and joyful flame
In sign of new-won liberty—
Once more Orestes shall retrieve
His father’s wealth, and, throned on high,
Shall hold the city’s fealty.
So mighty is the grasp whereby,
Heaven-holpen, he shall trip and throw,
Unseconded, a double foe
Ho for the victory!
[_A loud cry within._
VOICE OF AEGISTHUS
Help, help, alas!
CHORUS
Ho there, ho! how is’t within?
Is’t done? is’t over? Stand we here aloof
While it is wrought, that guiltless we may seem
Of this dark deed; with death is strife fulfilled.
[_Enter a slave_
SLAVE
O woe, O woe, my lord is done to death!
Woe, woe, and woe again, AEgisthus gone!
Hasten, fling wide the doors, unloose the bolts
Of the queen’s chamber. O for some young strength
To match the need! but aid availeth nought
To him laid low for ever. Help, help, help!
Sure to deaf ears I shout, and call in vain
To slumber ineffectual. What ho!
The queen! how fareth Clytemnestra’s self?
Her neck too, hers, is close upon the steel,
And soon shall sink, hewn thro’ as justice wills.
[_Enter Clytemnestra._
CLYTEMNESTRA
What ails thee, raising this ado for us?
SLAVE
I say the dead are come to slay the living.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Alack, I read thy riddles all too clear—
We slew by craft and by like craft shall die.
Swift, bring the axe that slew my lord of old;
I’ll know anon or death or victory—
So stands the curse, so I confront it here.
[_Enter Orestes, his sword dropping with blood._
ORESTES
Thee too I seek: for him what’s done will serve.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Woe, woe! Aegisthus, spouse and champion, slain!
ORESTES
What lov’st the man? then in his grave lie down,
Be his in death, desert him nevermore!
CLYTEMNESTSA
Stay, child, and fear to strike. O son, this breast
Pillowed thine head full oft, while, drowsed with sleep,
Thy toothless mouth drew mother’s milk from me.
ORESTES
Can I my mother spare? speak, Pylades,
PYLADES
Where then would fall the hest Apollo gave
At Delphi, where the solemn compact sworn?
Choose thou the hate of all men, not of gods.
ORESTES
Thou dost prevail; I hold thy counsel good.
[_To Clytemnestra_.
Follow; I will slay thee at his side.
With him whom in his life thou lovedst more
Than Agamemnon, sleep in death, the meed
For hate where love, and love where hate was due!
CLYTEMNESTRA
I nursed thee young; must I forego mine eld?
ORESTES
Thou slew’st my father; shalt thou dwell with me?
CLYTEMNESTRA
Fate bore a share in these things, O my child!
ORESTES
Fate also doth provide this doom for thee.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Beware, O my child, a parent’s dying curse.
ORESTES
A parent who did cast me out to ill!
CLYTEMNESTRA
Not cast thee out, but to a friendly home.
ORESTES
Born free, I was by twofold bargain sold.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Where then the price that I received for thee?
ORESTES
The price of shame; I taunt thee not more plainly.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Nay, but recount thy father’s lewdness too.
ORESTES
Home-keeping, chide not him who toils without.
CLYTEMNESTRA
’Tis hard for wives to live as widows, child.
ORESTES
The absent husband toils for them at home.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Thou growest fain to slay thy mother, child
ORESTES
Nay, ’tis thyself wilt slay thyself, not I.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Beware thy mother’s vengeful hounds from hell.
ORESTES
How shall I ’scape my father’s, sparing thee?
CLYTEMNESTRA
Living, I cry as to a tomb, unheard.
ORESTES
My father’s fate ordains this doom for thee.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Ah, me! this snake it was I bore and nursed.
ORESTES
Ay, right prophetic was thy visioned fear.
Shameful thy deed was—die the death of shame!
[_Exit, driving Clytemnestra before him._
CHORUS
Lo, even for these I mourn, a double death:
Yet since Orestes, driven on by doom,
Thus crowns the height of murders manifold,
I say, ’tis well—that not in night and death
Should sink the eye and light of this our home.
There came on Priam’s race and name
A vengeance; though it tarried long,
With heavy doom it came.
Came, too, on Agamemnon’s hall
A lion-pair, twin swordsmen strong.
And last, the heritage doth fall
To him, to whom from Pythian cave
The god his deepest counsel gave.
Cry out, rejoice! our kingly hall
Hath ’scaped from ruin—ne’er again
Its ancient wealth be wasted all
By two usurpers, sin-defiled—
An evil path of woe and bane!
On him who dealt the dastard blow
Comes Craft, Revenge’s scheming child.
And hand in hand with him doth go,
Eager for fight,
The child of Zeus, whom men below
Call Justice, naming her aright.
And on her foes her breath
Is as the blast of death;
For her the god who dwells in deep recess
Beneath Parnassus’ brow,
Summons with loud acclaim
To rise, though late and lame,
And come with craft that worketh righteousness.
For even o’er Powers divine this law is strong—
_Thou shalt not serve the wrong_.
To that which ruleth heaven beseems it that we bow.
Lo, freedom’s light hath come!
Lo, now is rent away
The grim and curbing bit that held us dumb.
Up to the light, ye halls! this many a day
Too low on earth ye lay.
And Time, the great Accomplisher,
Shall cross the threshold, whensoe’er
He choose with purging hand to cleanse
The palace, driving all pollution thence.
And fair the cast of Fortune’s die
Before our state’s new lords shall lie,
Not as of old, but bringing fairer doom
Lo, freedom’s light hath come!
[_The scene opens, disclosing Orestes standing over the corpses of
Aegisthus and Clytemnestra; in one hand he holds his sword, in the
other the robe in which Agamemnon was entangled and slain_.
ORESTES
There lies our country’s twofold tyranny,
My father’s slayers, spoilers of my home.
Erst were they royal, sitting on the throne,
And loving are they yet,—their common fate
Tells the tale truly, shows their trothplight firm.
They swore to work mine ill-starred father’s death,
They swore to die together; ’tis fulfilled.
O ye who stand, this great doom’s witnesses,
Behold this too, the dark device which bound
My sire unhappy to his death,—behold
The mesh which trapped his hands, enwound his feet!
Stand round, unfold it—’tis the trammel-net
That wrapped a chieftain; holds it that he see,
The father—not my sire, but he whose eye
Is judge of all things, the all-seeing Sun!
Let him behold my mother’s damnèd deed,
Then let him stand, when need shall be to me,
Witness that justly I have sought and slain
My mother; blameless was Aegisthus’ doom—
He died the death law bids adulterers die.
But she who plotted this accursèd thing
To slay her lord, by whom she bare beneath
Her girdle once the burden of her babes,
Beloved erewhile, now turned to hateful foes—
What deem ye of her? or what venomed thing,
Sea-snake or adder, had more power than she
To poison with a touch the flesh unscarred?
So great her daring, such her impious will.
How name her, if I may not speak a curse?
A lion-springe! a laver’s swathing cloth,
Wrapping a dead man, twining round his feet—
A net, a trammel, an entangling robe?
Such were the weapon of some strangling thief,
The terror of the road, a cut-purse hound—
With such device full many might he kill,
Full oft exult in heat of villainy.
Ne’er have my house so cursed an indweller—
Heaven send me, rather, childless to be slain!
CHORUS
Woe for each desperate deed!
Woe for the queen, with shame of life bereft!
And ah, for him who still is left,
Madness, dark blossom of a bloody seed!
ORESTES
Did she the deed or not? this robe gives proof,
Imbrued with blood that bathed Aegisthus’ sword:
Look, how the spurted stain combines with time
To blur the many dyes that once adorned
Its pattern manifold! I now stand here,
Made glad, made sad with blood, exulting, wailing—
Hear, O thou woven web that slew my sire!
I grieve for deed and death and all my home—
Victor, pollution’s damnèd stain for prize.
CHORUS
Alas, that none of mortal men
Can pass his life untouched by pain!
Behold, one woe is here—
Another loometh near.
ORESTES
Hark ye and learn—for what the end shall be
For me I know not: breaking from the curb
My spirit whirls me off, a conquered prey,
Borne as a charioteer by steeds distraught
Far from the course, and madness in my breast
Burneth to chant its song, and leap, and rave—
Hark ye and learn, friends, ere my reason goes!
I say that rightfully I slew my mother,
A thing God-scorned, that foully slew my sire
And chiefest wizard of the spell that bound me
Unto this deed I name the Pythian seer
Apollo, who foretold that if I slew,
The guilt of murder done should pass from me;
But if I spared, the fate that should be mine
I dare not blazon forth—the bow of speech
Can reach not to the mark, that doom to tell.
And now behold me, how with branch and crown
I pass, a suppliant made meet to go
Unto Earth’s midmost shrine, the holy ground
Of Loxias, and that renownèd light
Of ever-burning fire, to ’scape the doom
Of kindred murder: to no other shrine
(So Loxias bade) may I for refuge turn.
Bear witness, Argives, in the after time,
How came on me this dread fatality.
Living, I pass a banished wanderer hence,
To leave in death the memory of this cry.
CHORUS
Nay, but the deed is well; link not thy lips
To speech ill-starred, nor vent ill-boding words—
Who hast to Argos her full freedom given,
Lopping two serpents’ heads with timely blow.
ORESTES
Look, look, alas!
Handmaidens, see—what Gorgon shapes throng up;
Dusky their robes and all their hair enwound—
Snakes coiled with snakes—off, off, I must away!
CHORUS
Most loyal of all sons unto thy sire,
What visions thus distract thee? Hold, abide;
Great was thy victory, and shalt thou fear?
ORESTES
These are no dreams, void shapes of haunting ill,
But clear to sight my mother’s hell-hounds come!
CHORUS
Nay, the fresh bloodshed still imbrues thine hands,
And thence distraction sinks into thy soul.
ORESTES
O king Apollo—see, they swarm and throng—
Black blood of hatred dripping from their eyes!
CHORUS
One remedy thou hast; go, touch the shrine
Of Loxias, and rid thee of these woes.
ORESTES
Ye can behold them not, but I behold them.
Up and away! I dare abide no more.
[_Exit_
CHORUS
Farewell then as thou mayst,—the god thy friend
Guard thee and aid with chances favouring.
Behold, the storm of woe divine
That the raves and beats on Atreus’ line
Its great third blast hath blown.
First was Thyestes’ loathly woe—
The rueful feast of long ago,
On children’s flesh, unknown.
And next the kingly chief’s despite,
When he who led the Greeks to fight
Was in the bath hewn down.
And now the offspring of the race
Stands in the third, the saviour’s place,
To save—or to consume?
O whither, ere it be fulfilled,
Ere its fierce blast be hushed and stilled,
Shall blow the wind of doom?
[_Exeunt_.
THE FURIES
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE PYTHIAN PRIESTESS
APOLLO
ORESTES
THE GHOST OF CLYTEMNESTRA
CHORUS OF FURIES
ATHENA
ATTENDANTS OF ATHENA
TWELVE ATHENIAN CITIZENS
_The Scene of the Drama is the Temple of Apollo, at Delphi: afterwards
the Temple of Athena, on the Acropolis of Athens, and the adjoining
Areopagus._
_The Temple at Delphi_
_The Pythian Priestess_
F irst, in this prayer, of all the gods I name
The prophet-mother Earth; and Themis next,
Second who sat—for so with truth is said—
On this her mother’s shrine oracular.
Then by her grace, who unconstrained allowed,
There sat thereon another child of Earth—
Titanian Phoebe. She, in after time,
Gave o’er the throne, as birthgift to a god,
Phoebus, who in his own bears Phoebe’s name.
He from the lake and ridge of Delos’ isle
Steered to the port of Pallas’ Attic shores,
The home of ships; and thence he passed and came
Unto this land and to Parnassus’ shrine.
And at his side, with awe revering him,
There went the children of Hephaestus’ seed,
The hewers of the sacred way, who tame
The stubborn tract that erst was wilderness.
And all this folk, and Delphos, chieftain-king
Of this their land, with honour gave him home;
And in his breast Zeus set a prophet’s soul,
And gave to him this throne, whereon he sits,
Fourth prophet of the shrine, and, Loxias hight,
Gives voice to that which Zeus his sire decrees.
Such gods I name in my preluding prayer,
And after them, I call with honour due
On Pallas, wardress of the fane, and Nymphs
Who dwell around the rock Corycian,
Where in the hollow cave, the wild birds’ haunt,
Wander the feet of lesser gods; and there,
Right well I know it, Bromian Bacchus dwells,
Since he in godship led his Maenad host,
Devising death for Pentheus, whom they rent
Piecemeal, as hare among the hounds. And last,
I call on Pleistus’ springs, Poseidon’s might,
And Zeus most high, the great Accomplisher.
Then as a seeress to the sacred chair
I pass and sit; and may the powers divine
Make this mine entrance fruitful in response
Beyond each former advent, triply blest.
And if there stand without, from Hellas bound,
Men seeking oracles, let each pass in
In order of the lot, as use allows;
For the god guides whate’er my tongue proclaims.
[_She goes into the interior of the temple; after a short interval, she
returns in great fear_.
Things fell to speak of, fell for eyes to see,
Have sped me forth again from Loxias’ shrine,
With strength unstrung, moving erect no more,
But aiding with my hands my failing feet,
Unnerved by fear. A beldame’s force is naught—
Is as a child’s, when age and fear combine.
For as I pace towards the inmost fane
Bay-filleted by many a suppliant’s hand,
Lo, at the central altar I descry
One crouching as for refuge—yea, a man
Abhorredd of heaven; and from his hands, wherein
A sword new-drawn he holds, blood reeked and fell:
A wand he bears, the olive’s topmost bough,
Twined as of purpose with a deep close tuft
Of whitest wool. This, that I plainly saw,
Plainly I tell. But lo, in front of him,
Crouched on the altar-steps, a grisly band
Of women slumbers—not like women they,
But Gorgons rather; nay, that word is weak,
Nor may I match the Gorgons’ shape with theirs!
Such have I seen in painted semblance erst—
Winged Harpies, snatching food from Phineus’ board,—
But these are wingless, black, and all their shape
The eye’s abomination to behold.
Fell is the breath—let none draw nigh to it—
Wherewith they snort in slumber; from their eyes
Exude the damnèd drops of poisonous ire:
And such their garb as none should dare to bring
To statues of the gods or homes of men.
I wot not of the tribe wherefrom can come
So fell a legion, nor in what land Earth
Could rear, unharmed, such creatures, nor avow
That she had travailed and brought forth death.
But, for the rest, be all these things a care
Unto the mighty Loxias, the lord
Of this our shrine: healer and prophet he,
Discerner he of portents, and the cleanser
Of other homes—behold, his own to cleanse!
[_Exit_.
[_The scene opens, disclosing the interior of the temple: Orestes
clings to the central altar; the Furies lie slumbering at a little
distance; Apollo and Hermes appear from the innermost shrine_.
APOLLO
Lo, I desert thee never: to the end,
Hard at thy side as now, or sundered far,
I am thy guard, and to thine enemies
Implacably oppose me: look on them,
These greedy fiends, beneath my craft subdued!
See, they are fallen on sleep, these beldames old,
Unto whose grim and wizened maidenhood
Nor god nor man nor beast can e’er draw near.
Yea, evil were they born, for evil’s doom,
Evil the dark abyss of Tartarus
Wherein they dwell, and they themselves the hate
Of men on earth, and of Olympian gods.
But thou, flee far and with unfaltering speed;
For they shall hunt thee through the mainland wide
Where’er throughout the tract of travelled earth
Thy foot may roam, and o’er and o’er the seas
And island homes of men. Faint not nor fail,
Too soon and timidly within thy breast
Shepherding thoughts forlorn of this thy toil;
But unto Pallas’ city go, and there
Crouch at her shrine, and in thine arms enfold
Her ancient image: there we well shall find
Meet judges for this cause and suasive pleas,
Skilled to contrive for thee deliverance
From all this woe. Be such my pledge to thee,
For by my hest thou didst thy mother slay.
ORESTES
O king Apollo, since right well thou know’st
What justice bids, have heed, fulfil the same,—
Thy strength is all-sufficient to achieve.
APOLLO
Have thou too heed, nor let thy fear prevail
Above thy will. And do thou guard him, Hermes,
Whose blood is brother unto mine, whose sire
The same high God. Men call thee guide and guard,
Guide therefore thou and guard my suppliant;
For Zeus himself reveres the outlaw’s right,
Boon of fair escort, upon man conferred.
[_Exeunt Apollo, Hermes, and Orestes. The Ghost of Clytemnestra near_
GHOST OF CLYTEMNESTRA
Sleep on! awake! what skills your sleep to me—
Me, among all the dead by you dishonoured—
Me from whom never, in the world of death,
Dieth this curse, _’Tis she who smote and slew_,
And shamed and scorned I roam? Awake, and hear
My plaint of dead men’s hate intolerable.
Me, sternly slain by them that should have loved,
Me doth no god arouse him to avenge,
Hewn down in blood by matricidal hands.
Mark ye these wounds from which the heart’s blood ran,
And by whose hand, bethink ye! for the sense
When shut in sleep hath then the spirit-sight,
But in the day the inward eye is blind.
List, ye who drank so oft with lapping tongue
The wineless draught by me outpoured to soothe
Your vengeful ire! how oft on kindled shrine
I laid the feast of darkness, at the hour
Abhorred of every god but you alone!
Lo, all my service trampled down and scorned!
And he hath baulked your chase, as stag the hounds;
Yea, lightly bounding from the circling toils,
Hath wried his face in scorn, and flieth far.
Awake and hear—for mine own soul I cry—
Awake, ye powers of hell! the wandering ghost
That once was Clytemnestra calls—Arise!
[_The Furies mutter grimly, as in a dream_.
Mutter and murmur! He hath flown afar— My kin have gods to guard them,
I have none!
[_The Furies mutter as before_.
O drowsed in sleep too deep to heed my pain!
Orestes flies, who me, his mother, slew.
[_The Furies give a confused cry_.
Yelping, and drowsed again? Up and be doing
That which alone is yours, the deed of hell!
[_The Furies give another cry_.
Lo, sleep and toil, the sworn confederates,
Have quelled your dragon-anger, once so fell!
THE FURIES (_muttering more fiercely and loudly_)
Seize, seize, seize, seize—mark, yonder!
GHOST
In dreams ye chase a prey, and like some hound,
That even in sleep doth ply his woodland toil,
Ye bell and bay. What do ye, sleeping here?
Be not o’ercome with toil, nor sleep-subdued,
Be heedless of my wrong. Up! thrill your heart
With the just chidings of my tongue,—such words
Are as a spur to purpose firmly held.
Blow forth on him the breath of wrath and blood,
Scorch him with reek of fire that burns in you,
Waste him with new pursuit—swift, hound him down!
[_Ghost sinks._
FIRST FURY (_awaking_)
Up! rouse another as I rouse thee; up!
Sleep’st thou? Rise up, and spurning sleep away,
See we if false to us this prelude rang.