As wrathful souls have drawn untimely final breaths,
So too did those who bore me.
Pierced by poison arrows, messengers of death,
I swallowed the blood of he who wore me.

Not blood alone, but poison, too,
Did enter through my pores
From Hydra, who my master’s killer slew;
Its beads of blood, like raindrops, fell in scores.

My master gifted me in death, deranged.
The wife of Heracles accepted me.
She gave me to her husband, who, estranged,
She suspected of shame—adultery.

I mourned my master, slaughtered by an arrow.
But once delivered, I wrought his revenge.
Round Heracles, I seared him to the marrow.
I could not help it—’twas my duty to avenge.

His mortal half destroyed, he fell to ruin
And built himself a mighty funeral pyre.
And I, the fatal cause of his undoing,
Burned, as vengeance had before, in the crackling fire.