Leader.
They? Say, what man this foul deed compasseth?
Cassandra.
Alas, thou art indeed fallen far astray!
Leader.
How could such deed be done? I see no way.
Cassandra.
Yet know I not the Greek tongue all too well?
Leader.
Greek are the Delphic dooms, but hard to spell.
Cassandra.
Ah! Ah! There!
What a strange fire! It moves . . . It comes at me.
O Wolf Apollo, mercy! O agony! . . .
Why lies she with a wolf, this lioness lone,
Two-handed, when the royal lion is gone?
God, she will kill me! Like to them that brew
Poison, I see her mingle for me too
A separate vial in her wrath, and swear,
Whetting her blade for him, that I must share
His death . . . because, because he hath dragged me here!
Oh, why these mockers at my throat? This gear
Of wreathèd bands, this staff of prophecy?
I mean to kill you first, before I die.
Begone!
[She tears off her prophetic habiliments; and presently throws them on the ground, and stamps on them.
