Chorus from 'Medea'

Sweet are the ways of death to weary feet,
Calm are the shades of men.
The phantom fears no tyrant in his seat,
The slave is master then.

Love is abolish'd; well, that this is so;
We knew him best as Pain.
The gods are all cast out, and let them go!
Who ever found them gain?

Ready to hurt and slow to succour these;
So, while thou breathest, pray.
But in the sepulchre all flesh has peace;
Their hand is put away.