Old Ser. Set fire to Apollo's awful sanctuary.
Cre. I am afraid; my present sorrows are enough for me.
Old Ser. Then what thou canst, that dare—thy husband's death.
Cre. Nay, I do respect his former love in the days when he was good and true.
Old Ser. At least, then, slay the boy who hath appeared to supplant thee.
Cre. How can I? would it were possible! how I wish it were!
Old Ser. Arm thy followers with daggers.
Cre. I will about it; but where is the deed to be done?
Old Ser. In the sacred tent, where he is feasting his friends.
Cre. The murder will be too public, and slaves are poor support.
Old Ser. Ah! thou art turning coward. Devise some scheme thyself.
Cre. Well, I too have subtle plans that cannot fail.
Old Ser. If both conditions they fulfil, I will assist thee.
Cre. Hearken then; knowest thou the battle of the earth-born men?
Old Ser. Surely; the fight at Phlegra waged by giants against the gods.
Cre. There Earth brought Gorgon forth, dreadful prodigy.
Old Ser. To aid her sons maybe, and cause the gods hard toil?
Cre. Yea, and Pallas, daughter of Zeus, slew the monster.
Old Ser. What savage form had it assumed?
Cre. A breast-plate of vipers fenced its body.
Old Ser. Is this the tale I heard in days of yore?
Cre. That Athena wears its skin upon her corslet.
Old Ser. Is it this that Pallas wears, called by men her ægis?
