The lamentations rise higher still _as the Central Gates open and the couch of Alcestis is borne out, Admetus holding her in his arms, and, her children clinging about her; the Stage fills with weeping friends and attendants. The whole dialogue falls into lyrical measures with strophic alternations just perceptible_. _Alcestis_ commences to address the sunshine and fair scenery she has come out to view--when the scene changes to her dying eyes, and she can see nothing but the gloomy river the dead have to cross, with the boatman ready waiting, and the long dreary journey beyond. Dark night is creeping over her eyes, when _Admetus_, as he ever mingles his passionate prayers with her wanderings, conjures her for her children's sake as well as his own not to forsake them. A thought for her children's future rouses the mother from her stupor, and she rallies for a solemn last appeal [_the measure changing to blank verse to mark the change of tone_]. She begins to recite the sacrifice she is making for her lord: I die for thee, though free {284} Not to have died, but from Thessalia's chiefs Preferring whom I pleas'd, in royal state To have lived happy here--I had no will To live bereft of thee with these poor orphans-- I die without reluctance, though the gifts Of youth are mine to make life grateful to me. {290} Yet he that gave thee birth, and she that bore thee, Deserted thee, though well it had beseem'd them With honour to have died for thee, t' have saved Their son with honour, glorious in their death. They had no child but thee, they had no hope Of other offspring, should'st thou die; and I Might thus have lived, thou mightst have lived till age Crept slowly on, nor wouldst thou heave the sigh Thus of thy wife deprived, nor train alone Thy orphan children:--but some God appointed {300} It should be thus: thus be it. All this is the basis for a requital she demands of her husband: that he shall let her children be lords in their own house, and not set over them the cruel guardianship of a step-mother. My son that holds endearing converse with thee {315} Hath in his father a secure protection; But who, my daughter, shall with honour guide Thy virgin years? What woman shalt thou find New-wedded to thy father, whose vile arts Will not with slanderous falsehoods taint thy name, And blast thy nuptials in youth's freshest bloom? For never shall thy mother see thee led A bride, nor at thy throes speak comfort to thee, Then present when a mother's tenderness Is most alive: for I must die! {325}