own; the rest
Is Fortune's. And give honour chiefliest
To our lady Cypris, giver of all joys
To man. 'Tis a sweet goddess. Otherwise,
Let all these questions sleep and just obey
My counsel.... Thou believest all I say?
I hope so.... Let this stupid grieving be;
Rise up above thy troubles, and with me
Drink in a cloud of blossoms. By my soul,
I vow the sweet plash-music of the bowl
Will break thy glumness, loose thee from the frown
Within. Let mortal man keep to his own
Mortality, and not expect too much.
To all your solemn dogs and other such
Scowlers--I tell thee truth, no more nor less--
Life is not life, but just unhappiness.

[_He offers the wine-bowl to the_ SERVANT, _who avoids it_.]

SERVANT.
We know all this. But now our fortunes be
Not such as ask for mirth or revelry.

HERACLES.
A woman dead, of no one's kin; why grieve
So much? Thy master and thy mistress live.

SERVANT.
Live? Man, hast thou heard nothing of our woe?

HERACLES.
Yes, thy lord told me all I need to know.

SERVANT.
He is too kind to his guests, more kind than wise.

HERACLES.
Must I go starved because some stranger dies?

SERVANT.
Some stranger?--Yes, a stranger verily!

HERACLES (_his manner beginning to change_).
Is this some real grief he hath hid from me?

SERVANT.
Go, drink, man! Leave to us our master's woes.

HERACLES.
It sounds not like a stranger. Yet, God knows...

SERVANT.
How should thy revelling hurt, if that were all?

HERACLES.
Hath mine own friend so wronged me in his hall?

SERVANT.
Thou camest at an hour when none was free
To accept thee. We were mourning. Thou canst see
Our hair, black robes...

HERACLES (_suddenly, in a voice of thunder_).
Who is it that is dead?

SERVANT.
Alcestis, the King's wife.

HERACLES (_overcome_).
What hast thou said?
Alcestis?... And ye feasted me withal!

SERVANT.
He held it shame to turn thee from his hall.

HERACLES.
Shame! And when such a wondrous wife was gone!

SERVANT (_breaking into tears_).
Oh, all is gone, all lost, not she alone!

HERACLES.
I knew, I felt it, when I saw his tears,
And face, and shorn hair. But he won mine ears
With talk of the strange woman and her rite
Of burial. So in mine own heart's despite
I crossed his threshold and sat drinking--he
And I old friends!--in his calamity.
Drank, and sang songs, and revelled, my head hot
With wine and flowers!... And thou to tell