Chorus
A rock there is, where, as they say, the ocean dew distils, and from its beetling brow it pours a copious stream for pitchers to be dipped therein;
’twas here I had a friend washing robes of purple in the trickling stream, and she was spreading them out on the face of a warm sunny rock; from her
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I had the tidings, first of all, that my mistress
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Hippolytus. Euripides. Edward P. Coleridge (Translator). London. 1906.
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