I was looked after — foe, ay, old-begotten!But out of this man’s wealth will I endeavourTo rule the citizens: and the no-man-minder— Him will I heavily yoke — by no means trace-horse,A corned-up colt! but that bad friend in darkness,Famine its housemate, shall behold him gentle.CHOROS.Why then, this man here, from a coward spirit,Didst not thou slay thyself? But, — helped, — a woman,The country’s pest, and that of gods o’ the country,Killed him! Orestes, where may he see light now?That coming hither back, with gracious fortune,Of both these he may be the all-conquering slayer?
AIGISTHOS.But since this to do thou thinkest — and not talk — thou soon shalt know!Up then, comrades dear! the proper thing to do—not distant this!CHOROSUp then! hilt in hold, his sword let everyone aright dispose!AIGISTHOS.Ay, but I myself too, hilt in hold, do not refuse to die.CHOROS.Thou wilt die, thou say’st, to who accept it. We the chance demand.KLUTAIMNESTRA.Nowise, O belovedest of men, may we do other ills!To have reaped away these, even, is a harvest much to me.Go, both thou and these the old men, to the homes appointed each,