ALCESTIS.
9
Chorus.
Ay so?—how should the same be dead and live?
Handmaid.
Even now she droopeth, gasping out her life.
Chorus.
Noble and stricken—how noble she thou losest.
Handmaid.
His depth of loss he knows not ere it come. 145
Chorus.
And hope—is no hope left her life to save?
Handmaid.
None—for the day foredoomed constraineth her.
Chorus.
Are all things meet, then, being done for her?
Handmaid.
Yea, ready is her burial-attire.
Chorus.
Let her be sure that glorious she dies 150
And noblest woman 'neath the sun's wide way.
Handmaid.
Noblest?—how not?—what tongue will dare gainsay?
What must the woman be who passeth her?
How could a wife give honour to her lord
More than by yielding her to die for him? 155
