Chorus.

  What new thing wolf-like lurks behind thy words? 
  What snake’s tongue in thy lips? what fire in the eyes?

  Messenger.

  Bring me before the queen and I will speak.

  Chorus.

  Lo, she comes forth as from thank-offering made.

  Messenger.

  A barren offering for a bitter gift.

  Althaea.

  What are these borne on branches, and the face
  Covered? no mean men living, but now slain
  Such honour have they, if any dwell with death.

  Messenger.

  Queen, thy twain brethren and thy mother’s sons.

  Althaea.

  Lay down your dead till I behold their blood
  If it be mine indeed, and I will weep.

  Messenger,

  Weep if thou wilt, for these men shall no more.

  Althaea.

  O brethren, O my father’s sons, of me
  Well loved and well reputed, I should weep
  Tears dearer than the dear blood drawn from you
  But that I know you not uncomforted,
  Sleeping no shameful sleep, however slain,
  For my son surely hath avenged you dead.

  Messenger.

  Nay, should thine own seed slay himself, O queen?

  Althaea.

  Thy double word brings forth a double death.

  Messenger.

  Know this then singly, by one hand they fell.

  Althaea.

  What mutterest thou with thine ambiguous mouth?

  Messenger.

  Slain by thy son’s hand; is that saying so hard?

  Althaea.

  Our time is come upon us:  it is here.

  Chorus.

  O miserable, and spoiled at thine own hand.

  Althaea.

  Wert thou not called Meleager from this womb?

  Chorus.

  A grievous huntsman hath it bred to thee.

  Althaea.

  Wert thou born fire, and shalt thou not devour?

  Chorus.

  The fire thou madest, will it consume even thee?

  Althaea.

  My dreams are fallen upon me; burn thou too.

  Chorus.

  Not without God are visions born and die.

  Althaea.

  The gods are many about me; I am one.

  Chorus

  She groans as men wrestling with heavier gods.

  Althaea.

  They rend me, they divide me, they destroy.

  Chorus.

  Or one labouring in travail of strange births.

  Althaea.

  They are strong, they are strong; I am broken, and these prevail.

  Chorus.

  The god is great against her; she will die.

  Althaea.

  Yea, but not now; for my heart too is great. 
  I would I were not here in sight of the sun. 
  But thou, speak all thou sawest, and I will die. 
  I would I were not here in sight of the sun.