Cassandra.
O Woman, thou! The lord who lay with thee!
Wilt lave with water, and then . . . How speak the end?
It comes so quick. A hand . . . another hand . . .
That reach, reach gropingly . . .
Leader.
I see not yet. These riddles, pierced with blind
Gleams of foreboding but bemuse my mind.
Cassandra.
Ah, ah! What is it? There; it is coming clear.
A net . . . some net of Hell.
Nay, she that lies with him . . . is she the snare?
And half of his blood upon it. It holds well . . .
O Crowd of ravening Voices, be glad, yea, shout
And cry for the stoning, cry for the casting out!
Second Elder.
What Fury Voices call'st thou to be hot
Against this castle? Such words like me not.
And deep within my breast I felt that sick
And saffron drop, which creepeth to the heart
To die as the last rays of life depart.
Misfortune comes so quick.
Cassandra.
Ah, look! Look! Keep his mate from the Wild Bull!
A tangle of raiment, see;
A black horn, and a blow, and he falleth, full
In the marble amid the water. I counsel ye.
I speak plain. . . . Blood in the bath and treachery!
