What dost thou? Rise, be not subdued by toil,
Nor yet, relaxed by sleep, to grief be blind.
By just reproaches let thy heart be stung, 130
For to the prudent sharp they are as goads.
†But on thy quarry wafting gory breath,
Scorch him with fiery vapour from thy maw;—
Chase hard, with second coursing wear him down.
[The Ghost vanishes. The Chorus-leader starts from her seat.]
Leader.
Awake! Awaken her, as I wake thee!
Sleepest thou still? Arise, and slumber spurn;
Then try we whether vain our prelude be.
[The Furies start up one after another from their seats, and range themselves upon the stage, right and left of their leader.]
Chorus. Strophe I.
1st Fury. Woe! woe! alack! Friends, we have suffered scorn.
2. Much have I suffered and in vain.
1. Alack! dire anguish we have borne, 140
Intolerable pain!
2. Burst from the toils, fled is the game away.
3. By sleep o'ermastered I have lost the prey.
Antistrophe I.
4. Fie! Son of Zeus! Thou thievish art, I trow;
