Papa says her state is most precarious; she may be spared，
Children, my children! will no messenger
Go summon hither Theseus my best friend?
And wherefore, father, dost thou summon him?
This winged thunder of the god must bear me
Anon to Hades. Send and tarry not.
The bolt of Zeus descends once more.
My spirit quails and cowers: my hair
Bristles for fear. Again that flare!
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