Partaker 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 harvestAre harsh to slaves in all things, beyond measure.Thou hast — with us — such usage as law warrants.CHOROS.To thee it was, she paused plain speech from speaking.Being inside the fatal nets — obeying,Thou mayst obey: but thou mayst disobey too!KLUTAIMNESTRA.Why, if she is not, in the swallow’s fashion,Possessed of voice that’s unknown and barbaric,I, with speech — speaking in mind’s scope — persuade her.