Cassandra. Strophe III.
Ah! Ah!
A heaven-detested house, whose walls of yore
Halters have seen, and streams of kindred gore;
A human shambles with blood-reeking floor. 1060
Chorus.
Keen scented seems the stranger, like a hound;
Ay, and the blood she's tracking will be found.
Cassandra. Antistrophe III.
Ah! Ah!
Lo! witnesses trust-worthy! Vouchers dire!
These babes, who weep their death-wound, faith inspire,
Their roasted members eaten by their sire!
Chorus.
Thy fame oracular hath reached our ear;
But certes seek we now no prophet here.
Cassandra. Strophe IV.
Alas! ye gods!
What is she plotting? what new blow?
A mighty mischief plots she 'neath this roof; 1070
An unimaginable cureless woe,
Unbearable to friends. Help stands aloof.
Chorus.
Dark are these oracles; the first I knew;
For, them the city voucheth wholly true.
Cassandra. Antistrophe IV.
Ah wretched one!
The deed wilt consummate? With guile
