Once only dying in each several figure!Because of suchlike rumours back-revenging,Many the halters from my neck, above head,Others than I loosed — loosed from neck by main force!From this cause, sure, the boy stands not beside me —Possessor of our troth-plights, thine and mine too —As ought Orestes: be not thou astonished!For, him brings up our well-disposed guest-captiveStrophios the Phokian — ills that told on both sidesTo me predicting — both of thee ’neath Ilion The danger, and if anarchy’s mob-uproarShould overthrow thy council; since ’t is born withMortals, — whoe’er has fallen, the more to kick him.Such an excuse, I think, no cunning carries! As for myself — why, of my wails the rushingFountains are dried up: not in them a drop more!And in my late-to-bed eyes I have damage,Bewailing what concerned thee, those torch-holdingsFor ever unattended to. In dreams — why,Beneath the light wing-beats o’ the gnat, I woke up