Admetus

My friends, I deem the fortune of my wife Happier than mine, though otherwise it seems; For never more shall sorrow touch her breast, And she with glory rests from various ills. But I, who ought not live, my destined hour O'erpassing, shall drag on a mournful life, Late taught what sorrow is. How shall I bear To enter here? To whom shall I address My speech? Whose greeting renders my return Delightful? Which way shall I turn? Within In lonely sorrow shall I waste away, As widowed of my wife I see my couch, The seats deserted where she sat, the rooms Wanting her elegance. Around my knees My children hang, and weep their mother lost: These too lament their mistress now no more. This is the scene of misery in my house: Abroad, the nuptials of Thessalia's youth And the bright circles of assembled dames Will but augment my grief: ne'er shall I bear To see the loved companions of my wife. And if one hates me, he will say, "Behold The man, who basely lives, who dared not die, But, giving through the meanness of his soul His wife, avoided death, yet would be deemed A man: he hates his parents, yet himself Had not the spirit to die." These ill reports Cleave to me: why then wish for longer life, On evil tongues thus fallen, and evil days?