Thou liest where webs of the spider o’ersweep theeIn impious death, life breathing away.O me — me!This couch, not free.By a slavish death subdued thou art,From the hand, by the two-edged dart.
KLUTAIMNESTRA.Thou boastest this deed to be mine:But leave off styling meThe Agamemnonian wife!
For, showing himself in signOf the spouse of the corpse thou dost see,Did the ancient bitter avenging-ghostOf Atreus, savage host,Pay the man here as price —A full-grown for the young one’s sacrifice.
CHOROS.That no cause, indeed, of this killing art thou,Who shall be witness-bearer?How shall he bear it — how?But the sire’s avenging-ghost might be in the deed a sharer.He is forced on and on