Dear was she in days ere we lost her,
Dear yet, though she lie with the dead.
None nobler shall Earth-mother foster
Than the wife of thy bed.
(Ant. 2)
Not as mounds of the dead which have died, so account we the tomb of thy bride,
But O, let the worship and honour that we render to Gods rest upon her:
Unto her let the wayfarer pray.
As he treadeth the pathway that trendeth 1000
Aside from the highway, and bendeth
At her shrine, he shall say:
"Her life for her lord's was given;
With the Blest now abides she on high.
Hail, Queen, show us grace from thine heaven!"
Even so shall they cry.
But lo, Alkmênê's son, as seemeth, yonder,
Admetus, to thine hearth is journeying.
Enter Herakles, leading a woman wholly veiled.
Herakles.
Unto a friend behoveth speech outspoken,
Admetus, not to hide within the breast
Murmurs unvoiced. I came mid thine affliction. 1010
Fair claim was mine to rank amidst thy friends.
Thou told'st me not how lay thy wife a corpse:
Thou gavest me guest-welcome in thine home,
Making pretence of mourning for a stranger.
I wreathed mine head, I spilled unto the Gods 1015
Drink-offerings in a stricken house, even thine.
