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Translated by E. Coleridge.
63 pages - You are on Page 41 Amphitryon: Aye, that is he, a deathly sleep, having slain wife and children with the arrows of his twanging bow. Chorus: Ah! mourn- Amphitryon: I do. Chorus: The children's death; Amphitryon: Ah me! Chorus: And thy own son's doom. Amphitryon: Ah misery! Chorus: Old friend- Amphitryon: Hush! hush! he is turning, he is waking! Oh Oh! let me hide myself beneath the covert of yon roof. Previous Page / First / Next Page of Heracles
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