Leader: (to Deianeira) Why dost thou depart in silence? Knowest thou
not that such silence pleads for thine accuser? (Deianeira goes in
the house.)
Hyllus: Let her depart. A fair wind speed her far from my sight! Why
should the name of mother bring her a semblance of respect, when she
is all unlike a mother in her deeds? No, let her go,- farewell to
her; and may such joy as she gives my sire become her own! (Exit
Hyllus, into the house.)
Chorus: (singing, strophe 1)
See, maidens, how suddenly the divine word of the old prophecy hath
come upon us, which said that, when the twelfth year should have run
through its full tale of months, it should end the series of toils
for the true-born son of Zeus! And that promise is wafted surely to
its fulfilment. For how shall he who beholds not the light have toilsome
servitude any more beyond the grave?
(antistrophe 1)
If a cloud of death is around him, and the doom wrought by the Centaur's
craft is stinging his sides, where cleaves the venom which Thanatos
begat and the gleaming serpent nourished, how can he look upon tomorrow's
sun,- when that appalling Hydra-shape holds him in its grip, and those
murderous goads, prepared by the wily words of black-haired Nessus,
have started into fury, vexing him with tumultuous pain?