The while thy sire, thou, and thy sister die,
Thy mother—that I pass, unmeet to say,—1145
And that he hold thine halls who won his bride
By Agamemnon's spear!—may I not live
If we shall not against her draw the sword![1]
If haply we achieve not Helen's death,
Yon palace will we fire, and so will die.1150
For, of two glories, one we will not miss,
To die with honour, or with honour 'scape.
Chorus.
This child of Tyndareus, who hath brought shame
On womankind, deserves all women's hate.
Orestes.
Ha! nought is better than a loyal friend—1155
Nor wealth, nor lordship! Sure, of none account
The crowd is, weighed against one noble friend.
Aegisthus' punishment didst thou devise;
On peril's brink thou stoodest at my side;
And profferest now avenging on my foes,1160
Nor stand'st aloof;—but I will cease from praise,
For weariness cometh even of overpraise.
I must in any wise give up the ghost,
Yet fain would sting mine enemies ere I die,
That my betrayers I may so requite,1165
And they which made me miserable may groan.
Agamemnon's son am I, the son of one
Held worthy to rule Greece—no despot, yet
A god's might had he. Him I will not shame,
Brooking a slave's death; but as a free man1170
- ↑ Reading ἢν . . . . σπασώμεθα.
