shalt lop many a branch from the deep-rooted oak, and hew many a faggot also from the sturdy stock of the wild-olive; thou shalt lay my body thereupon, and kindle it with flaming pine-torch.
And let no tear of mourning be seen there; no, do this without lament and without weeping,1200 if thou art indeed my son. But if thou do it not, even from the world below my curse and my wrath shall wait on thee for ever.
Hy. Alas, my father, what hast thou spoken? How hast thou dealt with me!
He. I have spoken that which thou must perform; if thou wilt not, then get thee some other sire, and be called my son no more!
Hy. Woe, woe is me! What a deed dost thou require of me, my father,—that I should become thy murderer, guilty of thy blood!
He. Not so, in truth, but healer of my sufferings, sole physician of my pain!
Hy. And how, by enkindling thy body, shall I heal it?1210
He. Nay, if that thought dismay thee, at least perform the rest.
Hy. The service of carrying thee shall not be refused.
He. And the heaping of the pyre, as I have bidden?
Hy. Yea, save that I will not touch it with mine own hand. All else will I do, and thou shalt have no hindrance on my part.
He. Well, so much shall be enough.—But add one small boon to thy large benefits.
