LEADER. 
’Tis slay or die, win or return no more.

HERACLES. 
Well, I have looked on peril’s face before.

LEADER. 
What profit hast thou in such manslaying?

HERACLES. 
I shall bring back the horses to my King.

LEADER. 
’Twere none such easy work to bridle them.

HERACLES. 
Not easy?  Have they nostrils breathing flame?

LEADER. 
They tear men’s flesh; their jaws are swift with blood.

HERACLES. 
Men’s flesh!  ‘Tis mountain wolves’, not horses’ food!

LEADER. 
Thou wilt see their mangers clogged with blood, like mire.

HERACLES. 
And he who feeds such beasts, who was his sire?

LEADER. 
Ares, the war-lord of the Golden Targe.

HERACLES. 
Enough!—­This labour fitteth well my large
Fortune, still upward, still against the wind. 
How often with these kings of Ares’ kind
Must I do battle?  First the dark wolf-man,
Lycaon; then ’twas he men called The Swan;
And now this man of steeds!...  Well, none shall see
Alcmena’s son turn from his enemy.

LEADER. 
Lo, as we speak, this land’s high governor,
Admetus, cometh from his castle door.

Enter ADMETUS from the Castle.

ADMETUS. 
Zeus-born of Perseid line, all joy to thee!

HERACLES. 
Joy to Admetus, Lord of Thessaly!

ADMETUS. 
Right welcome were she!—­But thy love I know.

HERACLES. 
But why this mourning hair, this garb of woe?

ADMETUS (in a comparatively light tone). 
There is a burial I must make to-day.

HERACLES. 
God keep all evil from thy children!

ADMETUS. 
                                      Nay,
My children live.

HERACLES. 
                   Thy father, if ’tis he,
Is ripe in years.

ADMETUS. 
                   He liveth, friend, and she
Who bore me.

HERACLES. 
              Surely not thy wife?  ’Tis not
Alcestis?

ADMETUS (his composure a little shaken). 
           Ah; two answers share my thought,
Questioned of her.

HERACLES. 
                   Is she alive or dead?

ADMETUS. 
She is, and is not; and my heart hath bled
Long years for her.

HERACLES. 
                     I understand no more. 
Thy words are riddles.

ADMETUS. 
                        Heard’st thou not of yore
The doom that she must meet?

HERACLES. 
                              I know thy wife
Has sworn to die for thee.

ADMETUS. 
                            And is it life,
To live with such an oath hung o’er her head?

HERACLES (relieved). 
Ah,
Weep not too soon, friend.  Wait till she be dead.

ADMETUS. 
He dies who is doomed to die; he is dead who dies.