I blame thee, thus mishandled, yea, I blame thee.
Yet nowise is my will to gall thy grief.
But wherefore hither turning back I come,
This will I tell. Take, guard for me this maid, 1020
Till, leading hitherward the Thracian mares,
I come from slaughter of Bistonia's lord.
But if—not that, for I would fain return,—
I give her then, for service of thine halls.
Prize of hard toil unto mine hands she came: 1025
For certain men I found but now arraying
An athlete-strife, toil-worthy, for all comers,
Whence I have won and bring this victor's meed.
Horses there were for them to take which won
The light foot's triumph; but for hero-strife, 1030
Boxing and wrestling, oxen were the guerdon:
A woman made it richer. Shame it seemed
To hap thereon, and slip this glorious gain.
But, as I said, this woman be thy care:
For no thief's prize, but toil-achieved, I bring her. 1035
Yea, one day thou perchance shalt say 'twas well.
Admetus.
Not flouting thee, nor counting among foes,
My wife's unhappy fate I hid from thee.
But this had been but grief uppiled on grief,
Hadst thou sped hence to be another's guest; 1040
And mine own ills sufficed me to bewail.
But, for the woman—if in any wise
It may be, prince, bid some Thessalian guard her,
I pray thee, who hath suffered not as I.
In Pheræ many a friend and host thou hast.
Awaken not remembrance of my grief. 1045
I could not, seeing her mine halls within,
