Son, show thyself my son indeed, and do not honour a mother's name
above a sire's: bring forth the woman that bare thee, and give her
with thine own hands into my hand, that I may know of a truth which
sight grieves thee most,- my tortured frame, or hers, when she suffers
her righteous doom!
Go, my son, shrink not- and show thy pity for me, whom many might
deem pitiful,- for me, moaning and weeping like a girl;- and the man
lives not who can say that he ever saw me do thus before; no, without
complaining I still went whither mine evil fortune led. But now, alas,
the strong man hath been found a woman.
Approach, stand near thy sire, and see what a fate it is that hath
brought me to this pass; for I will lift the veil. Behold! Look, all
of you, on this miserable body; see how wretched, how piteous is my
plight!
Ah, woe is me!
The burning throe of torment is there anew, it darts through my sides-
I must wrestle once more with that cruel, devouring plague!
Studies
