style="margin-top: 2em">APOLLO.
Fear not.
I bring fair words and seek but what is just.

THANATOS (sneering)
And if words help thee not, an arrow must?

APOLLO.
'Tis ever my delight to bear this bow.

THANATOS.
And aid this house unjustly? Aye, 'tis so.

APOLLO.
I love this man, and grieve for his dismay.

THANATOS.
And now wilt rob me of my second prey!

APOLLO.
I never robbed thee, neither then nor now.

THANATOS.
Why is Admetus here then, not below?

APOLLO.
He gave for ransom his own wife, for whom …

THANATOS (interrupting).
I am come; and straight will bear her to the tomb.

APOLLO.
Go, take her.—I can never move thine heart.

THANATOS (mocking).
To slay the doomed?—Nay; I will do my part.

APOLLO.
No. To keep death for them that linger late.

THANATOS (still mocking).
'Twould please thee, so?… I owe thee homage great.

APOLLO.
Ah, then she may yet … she may yet grow old?

THANATOS (with a laugh).
No!… I too have my rights, and them I hold.

APOLLO.
'Tis but one life thou gainest either-wise.

THANATOS.
When young souls die, the richer is my prize.

APOLLO.
Old, with great riches they will bury her.

THANATOS.
Fie on thee, fie! Thou rich-man's lawgiver!

APOLLO.
How? Is there wit in Death, who seemed so blind?

THANATOS.
The rich would buy long life for all their kind.

APOLLO.
Thou will not grant me, then, this boon? 'Tis so?

THANATOS.
Thou knowest me, what I am: I tell thee, no!

APOLLO.
I know gods sicken at thee and men pine.

THANATOS.
Begone! Too many things not meant for thine
Thy greed hath conquered; but not all, not all!

APOLLO.
I swear, for all thy bitter pride, a fall
Awaits thee. One even now comes conquering
Towards this house, sent by a southland king
To fetch him four wild coursers, of the race
Which rend men's bodies in the winds of Thrace.
This house shall give him welcome good, and he
Shall wrest this woman from thy worms and thee.
So thou shalt give me all, and thereby win
But hatred, not the grace that might have been.
                                       [Exit APOLLO.]

THANATOS.
Talk on, talk on! Thy threats shall win no bride
From me.—This woman, whatsoe'er betide,
Shall lie in Hades' house. Even at the word
I go to lay upon her hair my sword.
For all whose head this grey sword visiteth
To death are hallowed and the Lords of death.

[THANATOS goes into the house. Presently, as the day grows lighter, the CHORUS enters: it consists of Citizens of Pherae, who speak severally.]

CHORUS.

LEADER.
Quiet, quiet, above, beneath!

SECOND ELDER.
The house of Admetus holds its breath.

THIRD ELDER.
And never a King's friend near,
To tell us either of tears to shed
For Pelias' daughter, crowned and dead;
  Or joy, that her eyes are clear.
Bravest, truest of wives is she
That I have seen or the world shall see.

DIVERS CITIZENS, conversing.
(The dash — indicates a new speaker.)

—Hear ye no sob, or noise of hands
    Beating the breast? No mourners' cries
      For one they cannot save?
—Nothing: and at the door there stands
    No handmaid.—Help, O Paian; rise,
      O star beyond the wave!

—Dead, and this quiet? No, it cannot be.
—Dead, dead!—Not gone to burial secretly!

—Why? I still fear: what makes your speech so brave?
—Admetus cast that dear wife to the grave
      Alone, with none to see?

—I see no bowl of clear spring water.
    It ever stands before the dread
      Door where a dead man rests.
—No lock of shorn hair! Every daughter
    Of woman shears it for the dead.
      No sound of bruisèd breasts!

—Yet 'tis this very day …—This very day?
—The Queen should pass and lie beneath the clay.
—It hurts my life, my heart!—All honest hearts
  Must sorrow for a brightness that departs,
      A good life worn away.

LEADER.
To wander o'er leagues of land,
  To search over wastes of sea,
Where the Prophets of Lycia stand,
  Or where Ammon's daughters three
Make runes in the rainless sand,
  For magic to make her free—
    Ah, vain! for the end is here;
    Sudden it comes and sheer.
What lamb on the altar-strand
  Stricken shall comfort me?

SECOND ELDER.
Only, only one, I know:
  Apollo's son was he,
Who healed men long ago.
  Were he but on earth to see,
She would rise from the dark below
  And the gates of eternity.
    For men whom the Gods had slain
    He pitied and raised again;
Till God's fire laid him low,
And now, what help have we?

OTHERS.
All's done that can be. Every vow
Full paid; and every altar's brow
  Full crowned with spice of sacrifice.
No help remains nor respite now.

Enter from the Castle a HANDMAID, almost in tears.

LEADER.
But see, a handmaid cometh, and the tear
Wet on her cheek! What tiding shall we hear?…
  Thy grief is natural, daughter, if some ill
Hath fallen to-day. Say, is she living still
Or dead, your mistress? Speak, if speak you may.

MAID.
Alive. No, dead…. Oh, read it either way.

LEADER.
Nay, daughter, can the same soul live and die?

MAID.
Her life is broken; death is in her eye.

LEADER.
Poor King, to think what she was, and what thou!

MAID.
He never knew her worth…. He will know it now.

LEADER.
There is no hope, methinks, to save her still?

MAID.
The hour is come, and breaks all human will.

LEADER.
She hath such tendance as the dying crave?

MAID.
For sure: and rich robes ready for her grave.

LEADER.
'Fore God, she dies high-hearted, aye, and far
In honour raised above all wives that are!

MAID.
Far above all! How other? What must she,
Who seeketh to surpass this woman, be?
Or how could any wife more shining make
Her lord's love, than by dying for his sake?
But thus much all the city knows. 'Tis here,
In her own rooms, the tale will touch thine ear
With strangeness. When she knew the day was come,
She rose and washed her body, white as foam,
With running water; then the cedarn press
She opened, and took forth