And popular criesOf a curse on thy head?Off thou hast thrown him, off hast cutThe man from the city: but —Off from the city thyself shalt beCut — to the citizensA hate immense! KLUTAIMNESTRA.Now, indeed, thou adjudgest exile to me,And citizens’ hate, and to have popular curses:Nothing of this against the man here bringing,Who, no more awe-checked than as ’t were a beast’s fate, —With sheep abundant in the well-fleeced graze-flocks, —Sacrificed his child, — dearest fruit of travailTo me, — as song-spell against Threkian blowings.Not him did it behove thee hence to banish— Pollution’s penalty? But hearing mzy deedsJusticer rough thou art! Now, this I tell thee:To threaten thus — me, one prepared to have thee(On like conditions, thy hand conquering) o’er meRule: but if God the opposite ordain us,Thou shalt learn — late taught, certes — to be modest. CHOROS.Greatly-intending thou art:Much-mindful, too, hast thou cried(Since thy mind, with its slaughter-outpouring part,Is frantic) that over the eyes, a patchOf blood — with blood to match —Is plain for a pride!Yet still, bereft of friends, thy fateIs — blow with blow to expiate!

KLUTAIMNESTRA.And this thou hearest — of my oaths, just warrant!