Let not the earth that lies upon her
  Be deemed a grave-mound of the dead. 
Let honour, as the Gods have honour,
  Be hers, till men shall bow the head,
And strangers, climbing from the city
  Her slanting path, shall muse and say: 
“This woman died to save her lover,
And liveth blest, the stars above her: 
Hail, Holy One, and grant thy pity!”
  So pass the wondering words away.

LEADER. 
But see, it is Alcmena’s son once more,
My lord King, cometh striding to thy door.

[Enter HERACLES; his dress is as in the last scene, but shows signs of a struggle.  Behind come two Attendants, guiding between them a veiled Woman, who seems like one asleep or unconscious.  The Woman remains in the background while HERACLES comes forward.]

HERACLES. 
Thou art my friend, Admetus; therefore bold
And plain I tell my story, and withhold
No secret hurt.—­Was I not worthy, friend,
To stand beside thee; yea, and to the end
Be proven in sorrow if I was true to thee? 
And thou didst tell me not a word, while she
Lay dead within; but bid me feast, as though
Naught but the draping of some stranger’s woe
Was on thee.  So I garlanded my brow
And poured the gods drink-offering, and but now
Filled thy death-stricken house with wine and song. 
Thou hast done me wrong, my brother; a great wrong
Thou hast done me.  But I will not add more pain
In thine affliction. 
                      Why I am here again,
Returning, thou must hear.  I pray thee, take
And keep yon woman for me till I make
My homeward way from Thrace, when I have ta’en
Those four steeds and their bloody master slain. 
And if—­which heaven avert!—­I ne’er should see
Hellas again, I leave her here, to be
An handmaid in thy house.  No labour small
Was it that brought her to my hand at all. 
I fell upon a contest certain Kings
Had set for all mankind, sore buffetings
And meet for strong men, where I staked my life
And won this woman.  For the easier strife
Black steeds were prizes; herds of kine were cast
For heavier issues, fists and wrestling; last,
This woman....  Lest my work should all seem done
For naught, I needs must keep what I have won;
So prithee take her in.  No theft, but true
Toil, won her....  Some day thou mayst thank me, too.

ADMETUS. 
’Twas in no scorn, no bitterness to thee,
I hid my wife’s death and my misery. 
Methought it was but added pain on pain
If thou shouldst leave me, and roam forth again
Seeking another’s roof.  And, for mine own
Sorrow, I was content to weep alone. 
  But, for this damsel, if it may be so,
I pray thee, Lord, let some man, not in woe
Like mine, take her.  Thou hast in Thessaly
Abundant friends....  ’Twould wake sad thoughts in me. 
  How could I have this damsel in my sight
And keep mine eyes dry?  Prince, why wilt thou