Oh, that thou mayest o’ercome the laws of cruel Styx, and the relentless distaffs of the Fates. He [Dis] who as king lords it o’er countless peoples, what time thou wast making war on Pylos, Nestor’s land, brought to combat with thee his plague-dealing hands, brandishing his three-forked spear, yet fled away, with but a slight wound smitten, and, though lord of death, feared he would die. Fate’s bars burst thou with thy hands; to the sad nether regions open a view of light, and let the trackless path now give easy passage to the upper world!
- Seneca the Younger, Hercules Furens