Who may, by singing spells, call back?Zeus had not else stopped one who rightly knewThe way to bring the dead again.But, did not an appointed Fate constrainThe Fate from gods, to bear no more than due,My heart, outstripping what tongue utters,Would have all out: which now, in darkness, muttersMoodily grieved, nor ever hopes to findHow she a word in season may unwindFrom out the enkindling mind.

KLUTAIMNESTRA.Take thyself in, thou too — I say, Kassandra!Since Zeus — not angrily—in household placed theePartaker of hand-sprinklings, with the manySlaves stationed, his the Owner’s altar close to.Descend from out this car, nor be high-mindedAnd truly they do say Alkmené’s child onceBore being sold, slaves’ barley-bread his living.If, then, necessity of this lot o’erbalance,Much is the favour of old-wealthy masters:For those who, never hoping, made fine harvest