Such oracle my mother, born of eld,
Themis, hoar Titaness, to me rehearsed.
But how and where, to tell, needs lengthy speech,
Nor would the knowledge aught advantage thee.
Io.
Ah me! ah woe is me!
Brain-smiting madness once again
Inflames me, and convulsive pain.
The gad-fly's barb, not wrought with fire,
Stings me; against my breast
Kicks my pent heart with fear oppressed. 900
Mine eyeballs roll in dizzy gyre;
Out of my course by frenzy's blast
I'm borne. My tongue brooks not the rein,
And turbid words, at random cast,
'Gainst waves of hateful madness beat in vain.
Chorus. Strophe I.
Sage was the man, ay, sage in sooth,
Who in his thought first weighed this truth,
And then in pithy phrase express'd:—
"That wedlock in one's own degree is best."
That not where wealth saps manly worth, 910
Nor where pride boasts its lofty birth,
Should son of toil repair in marriage quest.
Antistrophe I.
Never, oh never, Fates, may ye,
Dread powers primeval, gaze on me
