Tir. The gods are just;
But how can finite measure infinite? 
Reason! alas, it does not know itself! 
Yet man, vain man, would with this short-lined plummet,
Fathom the vast abyss of heavenly justice. 
Whatever is, is in its causes just;
Since all things are by fate.  But purblind man
Sees but a part o’the chain; the nearest links;
His eyes not carrying to that equal beam,
That poises all above.

Eur. Then we must die!

Tir. The danger’s imminent this day.

Adr. Why then there’s one day less for human ills;
And who would moan himself, for suffering that,
Which in a day must pass? something, or nothing;—­
I shall be what I was again, before
I was Adrastus.—­
Penurious heaven, can’st thou not add a night
To our one day? give me a night with her,
And I’ll give all the rest.

Tir. She broke her vow,
First made to Creon:  But the time calls on;
And Laius’ death must now be made more plain. 
How loth I am to have recourse to rites
So full of horror, that I once rejoice
I want the use of sight!—­

1 Pr. The ceremonies stay.

Tir. Chuse the darkest part o’the grove: 
Such as ghosts at noon-day love. 
Dig a trench, and dig it nigh
Where the bones of Laius lie;
Altars, raised of turf or stone,
Will the infernal powers have none. 
Answer me, if this be done?

All Pr. ’Tis done.

Tir. Is the sacrifice made fit? 
Draw her backward to the pit: 
Draw the barren heifer back;
Barren let her be, and black. 
Cut the curled hair, that grows
Full betwixt her horns and brows: 
And turn your faces from the sun: 
Answer me, if this be done?

All Pr. ’Tis done.

Tir. Pour in blood, and blood like wine,
To mother Earth and Proserpine: 
Mingle milk into the stream;
Feast the ghosts that love the steam;
Snatch a brand from funeral pile;
Toss it in to make them boil: 
And turn your faces from the sun: 
Answer me, if all be done?

All Pr. All is done. [Peal of Thunder; and flashes of Lightning;
                           then groaning below the stage.

Man. O, what laments are those?

Tir. The groans of ghosts, that cleave the heart with pain,
And heave it up:  they pant and stick half-way.
                                         [The Stage wholly darkened.

Man. And now a sudden darkness covers all, True genuine night, night added to the groves; The fogs are blown full in the face of heaven.

Tir. Am I but half obeyed? infernal gods,
Must you have musick too? then tune your voices,
And let them have such sounds as hell ne’er heard,
Since Orpheus bribed the shades.