Thoroughly, I am fain — if twice thou tell them. KLUTAIMNESTRA.Troia do the Achaioi hold, this same day.I think a noise — no mixture — reigns i’ the city.Sour wine and unguent pour thou in one vessel —Standers-apart, not lovers, wouldst thou style them:And so, of captives and of conquerors, partwiseThe voices are to hear, of fortune diverse.For those, indeed, upon the bodies prostrateOf husbands, brothers, children upon parents— The old men, from a throat that ’s free no longer,Shriekingly wail the death-doom of their dearest:While these — the after-battle hungry labour,Which prompts night-faring, marshals them to breakfastOn the town’s store, according to no billetOf sharing, but as each drew lot of fortune.In the spear-captured Troic habitationsHouse they already: from the frosts upmethralAnd dews delivered, will they, luckless creatures,Without a watch to keep, slumber all night through.And if they fear the gods, the city-guarders,