How? Is there wit in Death, who seemed so blind?

THANATOS.
The rich would buy long life for all their kind.

APOLLO.
Thou will not grant me, then, this boon? 'Tis so?

THANATOS.
Thou knowest me, what I am: I tell thee, no!

APOLLO.
I know gods sicken at thee and men pine.

THANATOS.
Begone! Too many things not meant for thine
Thy greed hath conquered; but not all, not all!

APOLLO.
I swear, for all thy bitter pride, a fall
Awaits thee. One even now comes conquering
Towards this house, sent by a southland king
To fetch him four wild coursers, of the race
Which rend men's bodies in the winds of Thrace.
This house shall give him welcome good, and he
Shall wrest this woman from thy worms and thee.
So thou shalt give me all, and thereby win
But hatred, not the grace that might have been.
[_Exit_ APOLLO.]