_Hercules:_ O grief, still with me! She deserved to die Beneath the hands of angry Hercules. 1460 O Lichas, thou hast lost thy mate in death. So hot my wrath, against her helpless corpse I still would rage. Why does her body lie Secure from my assaults? Go cast it out To be a banquet for the birds of prey. _Hyllus:_ She suffered more than even thou wouldst wish. Self-slain, and grieving sore for thee, she died. 1465 But 'tis not by a cruel wife's deceit, Nor by my mother's guile, thou liest low. By Nessus was this deadly plot conceived, Who, smitten by thine arrow, lost his life. 'Twas in the centaur's gore the robe was dipped, 1470 And by thy pains he doth requite his own. _Hercules:_ Then truly are his pains well recompensed, And my own doubtful oracles explained. This fate the talking oak foretold to me, And Delphi's oracle, whose sacred voice Shook Cirrha's temples and Parnassus' slopes: 1475 "By hand of one whom thou hast slain, some day, Victorious Hercules, shalt thou lie low. This end, when thou hast traversed sea and land, And the realm of spirits, is reserved for thee." Now will we grieve no more; such end is meet; Thus shall no conqueror of Hercules 1480 Survive to tell the tale. Now shall my death Be glorious, illustrious, renowned, And worthy of myself. This final day Will I make famous in the ears of men. Go, cut down all the woods, and Oeta's groves Bring hither, that a mighty funeral pyre May hold great Hercules before he dies. And thee, dear son of Poeas, thee I ask 1485 To do this last, sad office for thy friend, And all the sky illumine with the flames Of Hercules. And now to thee this prayer, This last request, Hyllus, my son, I make: Among my captives is a beauteous maid, Of noble breeding and of royal birth. 'Tis Iole, the child of Eurytus. 1490 Her would I have thee to thy chamber lead With fitting marriage rites; for, stained with blood, Victorious, I robbed her of her home And fatherland; and in return, poor girl, Naught save Alcides have I given her; And he is gone. Then let her soothe her woes In the embrace of him who boasts the blood 1495 Of Jove and Hercules. Whatever seed She has conceived of me let her to thee Bring forth. [_To_ Alcmena.] And do thou cease thy plaints, I pray, For me, great mother; thy Alcides lives; And by my might have I my stepdame made To seem but as the concubine of Jove. 1500 Whether the story of the night prolonged At Hercules' begetting be the truth, Or whether I was got of mortal sire-- Though I be falsely called the son of Jove, I have indeed deserved to be his son;