ate.

_Enter from the other side_ THANATOS; _a crouching black-haired and
winged figure, carrying a drawn sword. He starts in revulsion on
seeing_ APOLLO.

THANATOS.
Aha!
Why here? What mak'st thou at the gate,
Thou Thing of Light? Wilt overtread
The eternal judgment, and abate
And spoil the portions of the dead?
'Tis not enough for thee to have blocked
In other days Admetus' doom
With craft of magic wine, which mocked
The three grey Sisters of the Tomb;
But now once more
I see thee stand at watch, and shake
That arrow-armed hand to make
This woman thine, who swore, who swore,
To die now for her husband's sake.

APOLLO.
Fear not.
I bring fair words and seek but what is just.

THANATOS (_sneering_)
And if words help thee not, an arrow must?

APOLLO.
'Tis ever my delight to bear this bow.

THANATOS.
And aid this house unjustly? Aye, 'tis so.

APOLLO.
I love this man, and grieve for his dismay.

THANATOS.
And now wilt rob me of my second prey!

APOLLO.
I never robbed thee, neither then nor now.

THANATOS.
Why is Admetus here then, not below?

APOLLO.
He gave for ransom his own wife, for whom ...

THANATOS (_interrupting_).
I am come; and straight will bear her to the tomb.

APOLLO.
Go, take her.--I can never move thine heart.

THANATOS (_mocking_).
To slay the doomed?--Nay; I will do my part.

APOLLO.
No. To keep death for them that linger late.

THANATOS (_still mocking_).
'Twould please thee, so?... I owe thee homage great.

APOLLO.
Ah, then she may yet ... she may yet grow old?

THANATOS (_with a laugh_).
No!... I too have my rights, and them I hold.

APOLLO.
'Tis but one life thou gainest either-wise.

THANATOS.
When young souls die, the richer is my prize.

APOLLO.
Old, with great riches they will bury her.

THANATOS.
Fie on thee, fie! Thou rich-man's lawgiver!

APOLLO.
How? Is there wit in Death, who seemed so blind?

THANATOS.
The rich would buy long life for all their kind.

APOLLO.
Thou will not grant me, then, this boon? 'Tis so?

THANATOS.
Thou knowest me, what I am: I tell thee, no!

APOLLO.
I know gods sicken at thee and men pine.

THANATOS.
Begone! Too many things not meant for thine
Thy greed hath conquered; but not all, not all!

APOLLO.
I swear, for all thy bitter pride, a fall
Awaits thee. One even now comes conquering
Towards this house, sent by a southland king
To fetch him four wild coursers, of the race
Which r