its utmost upon me. I beg your forgiveness, I beg it upon my knees,
I beg it for the sake of the most lively passion, of the tenderest
love for you, which has ever been kindled in a human breast. If,
charming Alcmene, your heart refuses me the pardon which I have the
audacity to seek, then shall a well-aimed stroke put an end to my
life, and release me from the harsh severity of a penalty which I
can no longer bear. Yes, this state of things drives me to despair.
Do not think, Alcmene, that, enamoured as I am of your celestial
charms, I can live a day under your wrath. Even these moments' agony
is barbarously prolonged and my sad heart sinks under their mortal
blows. The cruel wounds of a thousand vultures are not comparable in
any way to my lively grief. Alcmene, you have but to tell me I need
not hope for pardon: and immediately this sword, by a happy thrust,
shall pierce the heart of a miserable wretch before your eyes. This
heart, this traitorous heart, too deserving of death, since it has
offended an adorable being, will be happy if, in descending into the
place of shades, my death appeases your anger, and, after this
wretched day, it leaves in your soul no impression of hatred in
remembering my love! This is all I ask as a sovereign favour.

ALC. Ah! Cruel husband.

JUP. Speak, Alcmene, speak.

ALC. Must I still keep some kindness for you, who insult me by so
many indignities?

JUP. Whatever resentment an outrage causes us, can it hold out
against the remorse of a heart deeply in love?