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Ah! Ah! What apparition is this?  Is it a net of death? No, it is a snare that shares his bed, that shares the guilt of murder. Let the fatal pack, insatiable against the race, raise a shout of jubilance over a victim accursed!1 Chorus
What Spirit of Vengeance is this that you bid  raise its voice over this house? Your words do not cheer me. Back to my heart surge the drops of my pallid blood, even as when they drip from a mortal wound, ebbing away as life's beams sink low; and death comes speedily.
1 Literally “fit for stoning.”
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