This same to praise I from all sides abound in —Clearly to know — Atreides, what he’s doing! KLUTAIMNESTRA.Much having been before to purpose spoken,The opposite to say I shall not shamed be:For how should one, to enemies, — in semblance,Friends, — enmity proposing, — sorrow’s net-frameEnclose, a height superior to outleaping?To me, indeed, this struggle of old — not mindlessOf an old victory — came: with time, I grant you!I stand where I have struck, things once accomplished:And so have done, — and this deny I shall not, —As that his fate was nor to fly nor ward off.A wrap-round with no outlet, as for fishes,I fence about him — the rich woe of the garment:I strike him twice, and in a double Ah-me!He let his limbs go — there! And to him, fallen,The third blow add I, giving — of Below-groundZeus, guardian of the dead — the votive favour.Thus in the mind of him he rages, falling,And blowing forth a brisk blood-spatter, strikes meWith the dark drop of slaughterous dew — rejoicingNo less than, at the god-given dewy-comfort,The sown-stuff in its birth-throes from the calyx.Since so these things are, — Argives, my revered here, —Ye may rejoice — if ye rejoice: but I — boast!If it were fit on corpse to pour libation,