She rose and washed her body, white as foam,
With running water; then the cedarn press
She opened, and took forth her funeral dress
And rich adornment.  So she stood arrayed
Before the Hearth-Fire of her home, and prayed: 
“Mother, since I must vanish from the day,
This last, last time I kneel to thee and pray;
Be mother to my two children!  Find some dear
Helpmate for him, some gentle lord for her. 
And let not them, like me, before their hour
Die; let them live in happiness, in our
Old home, till life be full and age content.” 
  To every household altar then she went
And made for each his garland of the green
Boughs of the wind-blown myrtle, and was seen
Praying, without a sob, without a tear. 
She knew the dread thing coming, but her clear
Cheek never changed:  till suddenly she fled
Back to her own chamber and bridal bed: 
Then came the tears and she spoke all her thought. 
  “O bed, whereon my laughing girlhood’s knot
Was severed by this man, for whom I die,
Farewell!  ’Tis thou ...  I speak not bitterly.... 
’Tis thou hast slain me.  All alone I go
Lest I be false to him or thee.  And lo,
Some woman shall lie here instead of me—­
Happier perhaps; more true she cannot be.” 
  She kissed the pillow as she knelt, and wet
With flooding tears was that fair coverlet. 
  At last she had had her fill of weeping; then
She tore herself away, and rose again,
Walking with downcast eyes; yet turned before
She had left the room, and cast her down once more
Kneeling beside the bed.  Then to her side
The children came, and clung to her and cried,
And her arms hugged them, and a long good-bye
She gave to each, like one who goes to die. 
The whole house then was weeping, every slave
In sorrow for his mistress.  And she gave
Her hand to all; aye, none so base was there
She gave him not good words and he to her. 
  So on Admetus falls from either side
Sorrow.  ’Twere bitter grief to him to have died
Himself; and being escaped, how sore a woe
He hath earned instead—­Ah, some day he shall know!

LEADER. 
Surely Admetus suffers, even to-day,
For this true-hearted love he hath cast away?

MAID. 
He weeps; begs her not leave him desolate,
And holds her to his heart—­too late, too late! 
She is sinking now, and there, beneath his eye
Fading, the poor cold hand falls languidly,
And faint is all her breath.  Yet still she fain
Would look once on the sunlight—­once again
And never more.  I will go in and tell
Thy presence.  Few there be, will serve so well
My master and stand by him to the end. 
But thou hast been from olden days our friend.
                            [The MAID goes in.]

CHORUS.

THIRD ELDER. 
    O Zeus,
What escape and where
  From the evil thing? 
How break the snare
  That is round our King?