To the race: and then, ’ware of the deed ill-omened,He shrieked O! — falls back, vomiting, from the carnage,And fate on the Pelopidai past bearingHe prays down — putting in his curse togetherThe kicking down o’ the feast — that so might perishThe race of Pleisthenes entire: and thence isThat it is given thee to see this man prostrate.And I was rightly of this slaughter stitch-man:Since me, — being third from ten, — with my poor fatherHe drives out — being then a babe in swathe-bands:But, grown up, back again has justice brought me:And of this man I got hold — being without-doors —Fitting together the whole scheme of ill-will.So, sweet, in fine, even to die were to me,Seeing, as I have, this man i’ the toils of justice!CHOROS.Aigisthos, arrogance in ills I love not.Dost thou say — willing, thou didst kill the man here,And, alone, plot this lamentable slaughter?I say — thy head in justice will escape notThe people’s throwing — know that! — stones and curses!