Seneca - Thyestes (ll. 68-121) lyrics

TANTALUS Down to the lakes, the rivers, the waters which flee me, the tree whose laden branches escape my hungry lips. If only I could escape to the black bed of my prison, 70 and if my punishment seems too light, I would change to a different river: may I be plunged in fire, trapped in the middle of Phlegethon's boiling water.* I call to all who suffer punishments* decreed by fate: to you, who lie in fear, beneath the hollow cavern, always frightened the ma** will fall upon you; you who shudder at the gaping jaws of the ravening lions, and the awful Furies who tangle you in their nets; and you, half-burnt, trying to ward off the approaching torches. 80 Listen to what I have to say: believe me, I learnt the hard way: love your punishments. When will I achieve escape from those above?* FURY First you must cause chaos, bring evil to the house, create in the kings the urge to fight and k**; stir up the heart into a crazy commotion. TANTALUS Punishment is something I must accept, not become. Is it my mission to go like deadly gas from a vent in the earth, or a plague infecting the world? Will I bring my very own grandsons to such a horror? Great Father of Gods — and my father* as well, though you blush to admit it — you may judge that my tongue talks too much and deserves the cruellest torture; still I must speak of this: I warn you all, do not pollute your hands with blasphemous murder, do not infect the altars with a Fury's curse. I will stand by, I will prevent this evil. — Why are you lashing your whip in my face? Why the threat of these circling snakes? Why pierce my belly with desperate hunger? My heart is burning, alight with thirst; my half-charred stomach smokes. I follow you.* FURY Good! Spread out your madness through the house. Make them resemble you, make them hate, make them thirst to drink their own blood. Now the palace feels your coming and it trembles with your touch. Well done! Now go back to your hellish lakes, your old familiar water. Now earth grieves to feel the burden of your feet. Do you not see how water is pushed back* into the ground, and how the banks stand dry, as a fiery wind drives the clouds away? The trees grow white, the fruit falls from the branches, 110 and near at hand the Isthmus, roaring with the sound of breaking waves dashing on both its sides, as its slim strip of land divides the neighbouring waters, now widens and hears the sound of distant tides. Lerna* now moves back, and river Inachus lies hidden, nor does sacred Alpheus reveal its waters. Mount Cithaeron's heights have shed their snow and all their white is gone. The famous town of Argos fears its ancient thirst.* See, even the Sun wonders whether to order the day, 120 whether to goad to life a day which is doomed to die.