No More Learning

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.