AR. O doleful change, I came In pious purpose, nay, I heard within The hymn to glorious Zeus: I rose and said, The mighty god now bends, he thrusts aside His heavenly supplicants to hear the prayer Of Inachus his servant; let him hear. O let him turn away now lest he hear. Nay, frown not on me; though a woman's voice That counsels is but heard impatiently, Yet by thy love, and by the sons I bare thee, 900 By this our daughter, our last ripening fruit, By our long happiness and hope of more, Hear me and let me speak. IN. Well, wife, speak on. AR. Thy voice forbids more than thy words invite: Yet say whence comes this stranger. Know'st thou not? Yet whencesoe'er, if he but wish us well, He will not bound his kindness in a day. Do nought in haste. Send now to Sicyon And fetch thy son Phorôneus, for his stake In this is more than thine, and he is wise. 910 'Twere well Phorôneus and Ægialeus Were both here: maybe they would both refuse The strange conditions which this stranger brings. Were we not happy too before he came? Doth he not offer us unhappiness? Bid him depart, and at some other time, When you have well considered, then return. IN. 'Tis his conditions that we now shall hear. AR. O hide them yet! Are there not tales enough Of what the wrathful gods have wrought on men? 920 Nay, 'twas this very fire thou now wouldst take, Which vain Salmoneus, son of Æolus, Made boast to have, and from his rattling car Threw up at heaven to mock the lightning. Him The thunderer stayed not to deride, but sent One blinding fork, that in the vacant sky Shook like a serpent's tongue, which is but seen In memory, and he was not, or for burial Rode with the ashes of his royal city Upon the whirlwind of the riven air. 930 And after him his brother Athamas, King of Orchomenos, in frenzy fell For Hera's wrath, and raving killed his son; And would have killed fair Ino, but that she fled Into the sea, preferring there to woo The choking waters, rather than that the arm Which had so oft embraced should do her wrong. For which old crimes the gods yet unappeased Demand a sacrifice, and the king's son Dreads the priest's knife, and all the city mourns. 940 Or shall I say what shameful fury it was With which Poseidon smote Pasiphaë, But for neglect of a recorded vow: Or how Actæon fared of Artemis When he surprised her, most himself surprised: And even while he looked his boasted bow Fell from his hands, and through his veins there ran A strange oblivious trouble, darkening sense Till he knew nothing but a hideous fear