HER. Ah me! these ringlets how will I tear off,
How rend my cheeks!
NUR. What mean’st thou, O my daughter?
Wilt thou thus injure that fair frame?
HER. Away,
O thou slight veil, I pluck thee from my head,
And toss thy scattered fragments in the air.
NUR. Cover thy bosom with the decent robe.
HER. Why with a robe my bosom should I hide?
The crimes I have committed ’gainst my lord
Are clear, well known, and cannot be concealed.
NUR. Griev’st thou because thou hast formed schemes to slay
Thy rival?
HER. I with many groans bewail
Those hostile darings, execrable wretch,
Wretch that I am, an object of just hate
To all mankind.
NUR. Thy husband such offence
Will pardon.
HER. From my hand why didst thou snatch
The sword? Restore, restore it, O my friends,
That I this bosom may transpierce. Why force me
To quit yon pendant noose?
NUR. In thy distraction
Shall I forsake and leave thee thus to die?
HER. Where shall I find (inform me, O ye Fates)
The blazing pyre, ascend the craggy rock,
Plunge in the billows, or amidst the woods
On a steep mountain waste the life I loathe,
That after death the gods beneath may take me
To their protection?
CHOR. Why wouldst thou make efforts
So violent? some mischiefs sent by Heaven
Sooner or later visit all mankind.
HER. Me like a stranded bark, thou, O my sire,
Hast left forsaken and without an oar.
To thee I owe my ruin. I no longer
In these my bridal mansions can reside.
To the propitious statues of what God
With suppliant haste shall I repair, or fall
At a slave’s knees, myself an abject slave?
I from the land of Phthia, like a bird
Upborne on azure wings, would speed my flight,
Or imitate that ship whose dashing oars
’Twixt the Cyanean straits first urged their way.
NUR. As little, O my daughter, can I praise
That vehemence which caused thee to transgress
Against the Trojan dame, as these thy fears
Which are immoderate. For such slight offence
Thy lord, misled by the pernicious tongue
Of a barbarian woman, from his couch
Will not expel thee: for thou art not his
By right of conquest, borne from vanquished Troy;
But thee, the daughter of a mighty king,
He with abundant dower, and from a city
Most flourishing, received: nor will thy sire,
His child forsaking, as thou dread’st, permit thee
To be cast forth: but enter these abodes,
Nor show thyself without, lest some affront
Thou shouldst receive if haply thou art seen
Before these doors.
[_Exit_ NURSE.
CHOR. Behold a man, whose dress
Is of such different fashion that it speaks
The foreigner, comes swiftly from the gate.