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Heracles
Ho! sirrah, why that solemn, thoughtful look? ’Tis not the way for servants to scowl on guests,
but with courteous soul to welcome them. But thou, seeing a friend of thy master arrive, receivest him with sullen, lowering brow, though ’tis but a stranger that is the object of thy mourning. Come hither, that thou too mayst learn more wisdom.
775
Dost know the nature of this mortal state? I trow not; how shouldst thou? Well, lend an ear to me. Death is the common debt of man; no mortal really knows if he will live to see the morrow’s light;
780
for Fortune’s issues are not in our ken, beyond the teacher’s rule they lie, no art can master them. Hearken then to this and learn of me, be merry, drink thy cup, and count the present day thine own, the rest to Fortune yield.
785
And to Cypris too, sweetest of the gods by far to man, thy tribute pay, for kindly is her mood. Let be those other cares, and heed my counsel if thou think’st I speak aright; methinks I do. Come, banish this excessive grief,
790
and drink a cup with me when thou hast passed beyond these doors and wreathed thy brow; and I feel sure the plash of wine within the cup will bring thee to a better haven from this crabbed mood, this cabined state of mind.
1
Mortals we are, and mortals’ thoughts should have;
795
for all they who frown and scowl do miss,—leastways I think so,—the true life and get themselves misfortune.
800
Ho! sirrah, why that solemn, thoughtful look? ’Tis not the way for servants to scowl on guests,
but with courteous soul to welcome them. But thou, seeing a friend of thy master arrive, receivest him with sullen, lowering brow, though ’tis but a stranger that is the object of thy mourning. Come hither, that thou too mayst learn more wisdom.
775
Dost know the nature of this mortal state? I trow not; how shouldst thou? Well, lend an ear to me. Death is the common debt of man; no mortal really knows if he will live to see the morrow’s light;
780
for Fortune’s issues are not in our ken, beyond the teacher’s rule they lie, no art can master them. Hearken then to this and learn of me, be merry, drink thy cup, and count the present day thine own, the rest to Fortune yield.
785
And to Cypris too, sweetest of the gods by far to man, thy tribute pay, for kindly is her mood. Let be those other cares, and heed my counsel if thou think’st I speak aright; methinks I do. Come, banish this excessive grief,
790
and drink a cup with me when thou hast passed beyond these doors and wreathed thy brow; and I feel sure the plash of wine within the cup will bring thee to a better haven from this crabbed mood, this cabined state of mind.
1
Mortals we are, and mortals’ thoughts should have;
795
for all they who frown and scowl do miss,—leastways I think so,—the true life and get themselves misfortune.
800
Attendant
I know all that, but our present state has little claim on revelry or laughter.
I know all that, but our present state has little claim on revelry or laughter.
Heracles
The dead was a stranger woman; grieve not to excess; for the rulers of thy house are living.
805
The dead was a stranger woman; grieve not to excess; for the rulers of thy house are living.
805
Attendant
How, living? Thou knowest not the trouble in the house.
How, living? Thou knowest not the trouble in the house.
Heracles
I do, unless thy master did in aught deceive me.
I do, unless thy master did in aught deceive me.
Attendant
Too hospitable is he.
Too hospitable is he.
Heracles
Was I to miss good cheer because a stranger had died?
810
Was I to miss good cheer because a stranger had died?
810
Attendant
A stranger surely! quite a stranger she!
A stranger surely! quite a stranger she!
Heracles
Is there some trouble that he withheld from me?
Is there some trouble that he withheld from me?
Attendant
Farewell, go thy way! my master’s troubles are my care.
Farewell, go thy way! my master’s troubles are my care.
Heracles
This word of thine heralds not a grief for strangers felt.
This word of thine heralds not a grief for strangers felt.
Attendant
Had it been, the sight of thy merriment had not grieved me so.
815
Had it been, the sight of thy merriment had not grieved me so.
815
Alcestis. Euripides. Edward P. Coleridge (Translator). London. 1906.
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