Classic and Contemporary Poetry
HERCULES FURENS: THOU SHALL NOT DIE, by EURIPIDES Poet's Biography First Line: Enough / on you, who sit like one most miserable Last Line: Hellas forbids you foolishly to die. Subject(s): Death; Dead, The | ||||||||
THESEUS. HERACLES THES. Enough. On you, who sit like one most miserable, I call to lift your face up to your friends, For there's no darkness has a cloud so black To hide the sorrows that have fallen you. Why wave your hand to show that murder's done? Lest a pollution strike me from your speech? Misfortune hurts me not if shared with you. For I had joy once. Let's go back to that, When from the dead to light you brought me safe. I hate friends' gratitude when it grows old, And him who likes to share prosperity But will not sail with friends in troubled seas. Stand up, uncover your unhappy head, And look at us. The noble man endures All pitfalls from the gods and does not shrink. HER. Theseus, you see this battle with my sons? THES. I heard, and now I see the ills you show. HER. Why have you made me show the sun my head? THES. Why? Mortal you cannot defile the gods. HER. Unhappy man, fly from my foul contagion. THES. From friend to friend no Spirit of Vengeance comes. HER. I thank you. And I helped you once, I know. THES. And I, whom then you helped, now pity you. HER. Pitiable am I, my children's murderer! THES. I mourn for your sake in this altered fortune. HER. Have you known others in still greater woe? THES. From earth your sorrow reaches to the sky. HER. Therefore have I prepared myself for death. THES. Do you believe the gods care for your threats? HER. Self-willed are gods, and to them self-willed I. THES. Silence, lest big words bring a bigger woe. HER. My cup is full -- I have no room for more. THES. What will you do? Where does wrath carry you? HER. Dead I go whence I came -- beneath the earth. THES. The words you speak are those of lesser men. HER. And you, being outside sorrow, give me warning! THES. Does much-enduring Heracles say this? HER. Endure I cannot -- grief must have its bourne. THES. This mankind's helper and its mighty friend? HER. They do not help me; Hera rules my life. THES. Hellas forbids you foolishly to die. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FRIEND KILLED IN THE WAR by ANTHONY HECHT FOR JAMES MERRILL: AN ADIEU by ANTHONY HECHT TARANTULA: OR THE DANCE OF DEATH by ANTHONY HECHT CHAMPS D?ÇÖHONNEUR by ERNEST HEMINGWAY NOTE TO REALITY by TONY HOAGLAND AEOLUS: THE OLD MEN by EURIPIDES |
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