offering} the words of prayer, and pouring wine from the
bowl upon the marble altars. The virulence of the bane waxes warm, and,
melted by the flames, it runs, widely diffused over the limbs of
Hercules. So long as he is able, he suppresses his groans with his
wonted fortitude. After his endurance is overcome by his anguish, he
pushes down the altars, and fills the woody Oeta with his cries. There
is no {further} delay; he attempts to tear off the deadly garment; {but}
where it is torn off, it tears away the skin, and, shocking to relate,
it either sticks to his limbs, being tried in vain to be pulled off,
or it lays bare his mangled limbs, and his huge bones. The blood itself
hisses, just as when a red hot plate {of metal is} dipped in cold water;
and it boils with the burning poison. There is no limit {to his misery};
the devouring flames prey upon his entrails, and a livid perspiration
flows from his whole body; his half-burnt sinews also crack; and his
marrow being {now} dissolved by the subtle poison, lifting his hands
towards the stars {of heaven}, he exclaims, "Daughter of Saturn, satiate
thyself with my anguish; satiate thyself, and look down from on high,
O cruel {Goddess}, at this {my} destruction, and glut thy relentless
heart. Or, if I am to be pitied even by an enemy (for an enemy I am to
thee), take away a life insupportable through these dreadful agonies,
hateful, too, {to myself}, and {only} destined to trouble. Death will be
a gain to me. It becomes a stepmother to grant such a favour.

"And was it for this that I subdued Busiris, who polluted the temples
{of the Gods} with the blood of strangers? And did I {for this},
withdraw from the savage Antaeus[18] the support given him by his mother?
Did neither the triple shape of the Iberian shepherd[19], nor thy triple
form, O Cerberus, alarm me? And did you, my hands, seize the horns of
the mighty bull? Does Elis, {too}, possess {the result} of your labours,
and the Stymphalian waters, and the Parthenian[20] grove {as well}? By
your valour was it that the belt, inlaid with the gold of Thermodon[21],
was gained, the apples too, guarded in vain by the wakeful dragon? And
could neither the Centaurs resist me, nor yet the boar, the ravager of
Arcadia? And was it not of no avail to the Hydra to grow through {its
own} loss, and to recover double strength? And what besides? When I
beheld the Thracian steeds fattened with human blood, and the mangers
filled with mang