So. 
Dost comprehend things mortal, how they grow?...
(To himself) I suppose not.  How could he?... 
                                Look this way! 
Death is a debt all mortal men must pay;
Aye, there is no man living who can say
If life will last him yet a single day. 
On, to the dark, drives Fortune; and no force
Can wrest her secret nor put back her course.... 
  I have told thee now.  I have taught thee.  After this
Eat, drink, make thyself merry.  Count the bliss Of the one passing hour thine own; the rest
Is Fortune’s.  And give honour chiefliest
To our lady Cypris, giver of all joys
To man.  ’Tis a sweet goddess.  Otherwise,
Let all these questions sleep and just obey
My counsel....  Thou believest all I say? 
I hope so....  Let this stupid grieving be;
Rise up above thy troubles, and with me
Drink in a cloud of blossoms.  By my soul,
I vow the sweet plash-music of the bowl
Will break thy glumness, loose thee from the frown
Within.  Let mortal man keep to his own
Mortality, and not expect too much. 
  To all your solemn dogs and other such
Scowlers—­I tell thee truth, no more nor less—­
Life is not life, but just unhappiness.

[He offers the wine-bowl to the SERVANT, who avoids it.]

SERVANT. 
We know all this.  But now our fortunes be
Not such as ask for mirth or revelry.

HERACLES. 
A woman dead, of no one’s kin; why grieve
So much?  Thy master and thy mistress live.

SERVANT. 
Live?  Man, hast thou heard nothing of our woe?

HERACLES. 
Yes, thy lord told me all I need to know.

SERVANT. 
He is too kind to his guests, more kind than wise.

HERACLES. 
Must I go starved because some stranger dies?

SERVANT. 
Some stranger?—­Yes, a stranger verily!

HERACLES (his manner beginning to change). 
Is this some real grief he hath hid from me?

SERVANT. 
Go, drink, man!  Leave to us our master’s woes.

HERACLES. 
It sounds not like a stranger.  Yet, God knows...

SERVANT. 
How should thy revelling hurt, if that were all?

HERACLES. 
Hath mine own friend so wronged me in his hall?

SERVANT. 
Thou camest at an hour when none was free
To accept thee.  We were mourning.  Thou canst see
Our hair, black robes...

HERACLES (suddenly, in a voice of thunder). 
                         Who is it that is dead?

SERVANT. 
Alcestis, the King’s wife.

HERACLES (overcome). 
                            What hast thou said? 
Alcestis?...  And ye feasted me withal!

SERVANT. 
He held it shame to turn thee from his hall.

HERACLES. 
Shame!  And when such a wondrous wife was gone!