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. Destiny doth Justice whet For other deed of hurt, on other whetstones yet.
 Woe, earth, earth — would thou hadst taken me Ere I saw the man I see, On the pallet-bed Of the silver-sided bath-vase, dead! Who is it shall bury him, who Sing his dirge? Can it be true That thou wilt dare this same to do — Having slain thy husband, thine own, To make his funeral moan: And for the soul of him, in place Of his mighty deeds, a graceless grace To wickedly institute? By whom Shall the tale of praise o’er the tomb At the god-like man be sent —