Furies:
- Aieeeeee - no, no, no, they do us wrong, dear sisters.
- The miles of pain, the pain I suffer...
and all for nothing, all for pain, more pain,
the anguish, oh, the grief too much to bear.
- The quarry's slipped from the nets, our quarry lost and gone.
- Sleep defeats me... I have lost the prey.
- You - child of Zeus - you, a common thief!
- Young god, you have ridden down the powers
proud with age. You worship the suppliant,
the godless man who tears his parent's heart -
- The matricide, you steal him away, and you a god!
- Guilt both ways, and who can call it justice?
- Not I: her charges stalk my dreams,
Yes, the charioteer rides hard,
her spurs digging the vitals,
under the heart, under the heaving breast -
-I can feel the executioner's lash, it's searing
deeper, sharper, the knives of burning ice -
- Such is your triumph, you young gods,
world dominion past all rights.
Your throne is streaming blood,
blood at the foot, blood at the crowning head -
-I can see the Navelstone of the Earth, it's bleeding,
bristling corruption, oh, the guilt it has to bear -
Stains on the hearth! The Prophet stains the vault,
he cries it on, drives on the crime himself.
Breaking the god's first law, he rates men first,
destroys the old dominions of the Fates.
He wounds me too, yet him he'll never free,
plunging under the earth, no freedom then: curst
as he comes for purging, at his neck
he feels new murder springing from his blood.
(Apollo strides from his sanctuary in full armour, brandishing his bow and driving back the
furies.)
APOLLO: Out, I tell you, out of these halls - fast! -
set the Prophet's chamber free!
(Seizing one of the furies, shaking an arrow across her face.)
Or take
the flash and stab of this, this flying viper
whipped from the golden cord that strings my bow!
Heave in torment, black froth erupting from your lungs,
vomit the clots of all the murders you have drained.
But never touch my halls, you have no right.
Go where heads are severed, eyes gouged out,
where Justice and bloody slaughter are the same...
castrations, wasted seed, young men's glories butchered,
extremities maimed, and huge stones at the chest,
and the victims wail for pity -
spikes inching up the spine, torsos stuck on spikes.
(The furies close in on him.)
So, you hear your love feast, yearn to have it all?
You revolt the gods. Your look,
your whole regalia gives you away - your kind
should infest a lion's cavern reeking blood.
But never rub your filth on the Prophet's shrine.
Out, you flock without a herdsman - out!
No god will ever shepherd you with love.