Such kind of steam as from a tomb is proper!CHOROS.No Surian honour to the House thou speak’st of!KASSANDRA.But I will go, — even in the household wailingMy fate and Agamemnon’s. Life suffice me!Ah, strangers!I cry not ah — as bird at bush — through terrorIdly! to me, the dead this much bear witness:When, for me — woman, there shall die a woman,And, for a man ill-wived, a man shall perish!This hospitality I ask as dying.CHOROS.O sufferer, thee — thy foretold fate I pity.KASSANDRA.Yet once for all, to speak a speech, I fain am:No dirge, mine for myself! The sun I pray to,Fronting his last light! — to my own avengers —That from my hateful slayers they exact tooPay for the dead slave — easy-managed hand’s work!