When she knew {160} The destin'd day was come, in fountain water She bath'd her lily-tinctured limbs, then took From her rich chests, of odorous cedar form'd, A splendid robe, and her most radiant dress; Thus gorgeously array'd she stood before The hallow'd flames, and thus address'd her pray'r: "O Queen, I go to the infernal shades! Yet, e'er I go, with reverence let me breathe My last request: Protect my orphan children, Make my son happy with the wife he loves, {170} And wed my daughter to a noble husband: Nor let them, like their mother, to the tomb Untimely sink, but in their native land Be blest through length'ned life to honour'd age." Then to each altar in the royal house She went, and crown'd it, and address'd her vows, Plucking the myrtle bough; nor tear, nor sigh Came from her, neither did the approaching ill Change the fresh beauties of her vermeil cheek. Her chamber then she visits, and her bed; {180} There her tears flow'd, and thus she spoke: "O bed To which my wedded lord, for whom I die, Led me a virgin bride, farewell; to thee No blame do I impute, for me alone Hast thou destroy'd; disdaining to betray Thee and my lord, I die: to thee shall come Some other woman, not more chaste, perchance More happy"--as she lay, she kissed the couch, And bath'd it with a flood of tears; that pass'd, She left her chamber, then return'd, and oft {190} She left it, oft return'd, and on the couch Fondly, each time she enter'd, cast herself. Her children, as they hung upon her robes, Weeping, she rais'd, and clasp'd them to her breast Each after each, as now about to die. Each servant through the house burst into tears In pity of their mistress; she to each St[r?]etch'd her right hand; nor was there one so mean To whom she spoke not, and admitted him To speak to her again. Within the house {200} So stands it with Admetus. Had he died, His woes were over: now he lives to bear A weight of pain no moment shall forget. Alcestis is wasting away, and fading with swift disease, while her distracted husband holds her in his arms, entreating impossibilities. And now they are about to bring her out, for the dying Alcestis has a longing for one more sight of heaven and the radiant morning. The Chorus are plunged in despair: how will their king bear to live after the loss of such a wife!