By the kin-born flowing of blood, — Black Ares: to where, having gone, He shall leave off, flowing done, At the frozen-child’s-flesh food.
 King, king, how shall I beweep thee? From friendly soul whatever say? Thou liest where webs of the spider o’ersweep thee In impious death, life breathing away. O me — me! This couch, not free! By a slavish death subdued thou art, From the hand, by the two-edged dart.
 KLUTAIMNESTRA. No death unfit for the free Do I think this man’s to be: For did not himself a slavish curse To his household decree? But the scion of him, myself did nurse — That much-bewailed Iphigeneia, he Having done well by, — and as well, nor worse, Been done to, — let him not in Haides loudly Bear himself proudly! Being by sword-destroying death amerced For that sword’s punishment himself inflicted first.
 CHOROS. I at a loss am left — Of a feasible scheme of mind bereft — Where I may turn: for the house is falling: I fear the bloody crash of the rain That ruins the roof as it bursts amain: The warning-drop Has come to a stop.