Ay, and, for me, myself will dance a prelude, For, that my masters’ dice drop right, I’ll reckon: Since thrice-six has it thrown to me, this signal. Well, may it hap that, as he comes, the loved hand O’ the household’s lord I may sustain with this hand! As for the rest, I’m mute: on tongue a big ox Has trodden. Yet this House, if voice it take should, Most plain would speak. So, willing I myself speak To those who know: to who know not — I’m blankness.
 CHOROS. The tenth year this, since Priamos’ great match, King Menelaos, Agamemnon King, — The strenuous yoke-pair of the Atreidai’s honour Two-throned, two-sceptred, whereof Zeus was donor — Did from this land the aid, the armament despatch, The thousand-sailored force of Argives clamouring Ares from out the indignant breast, as fling Passion forth vultures which, because of grief Away, — as are their young ones, — with the thief, Lofty above their brood-nests wheel in ring, Row round and round with oar of either wing, Lament the bedded chicks, lost labour that was love: Which hearing, one above — Whether Apollon, Pan or Zeus — that wail, Sharp-piercing bird-shriek of the guests who fare Housemates with gods in air — Suchanone sends, against who these assail, What, late-sent, shall not fail Of punishing — Erinus. Here as there, The Guardian of the Guest, Zeus, the excelling one, Sends against Alexandros either son