[The first Areopagite rises, takes a pebble from the altar, and drops it into the urn. The rest follow in succession between the following distichs.]
Chorus.
This sisterhood, oppressive to the land,
My council is that ye in no wise shame.
Apollo.
And I enjoin you, fear mine oracles;
From Zeus they issue, fruitless make them not.
Chorus.
Usurping championship of bloody suit,
No longer shall thine oracles be pure.
Apollo.
Did then my Father towards Ixion err,
Who first as blood-stained suppliant, sued for aid?
Chorus.
Say on! but I, defrauded in my suit,
In turn will haunt the land, dread visitant. 690
Apollo.
Alike of younger and of elder gods
Art thou unhonoured. I the cause shall win.
Chorus.
So whilom wroughtest thou in Pheres' house,
Moving the Fates mortals from death to free.
Apollo.
Was it not just my votary to aid,
Then chiefly in his hour of sorest need?
