_Clytaemnestra_, in an elaborate speech, glories in her deed. Deceit was necessary in dealing with foes: now standing where she did the deed, she glories in it: glories in the net in which she entangled and rendered him powerless, in the blows, one, two, three, like a libation, which she struck, glories in the gush of death-blood which has bespattered her. A late triumph: he had come home to drain the goblet of curses his old deed had been long heaping up. After an interruption of astonishment from the _Foreman_, she repeats: it is the handiwork of my artist hand. After the _Chorus_ have recovered from their astonishment they (_in a lyrical burst_) denounce her: her confession is the incense on the Victim's head, she shall feel the people's strong hate, and have an exile's doom.--_Clyt._ (_calmly in Blank Verse_): they denounced no such exile against Agamemnon when he sacrificed her daughter, the first of her travail pangs. Besides, are they sure they are the stronger? Perchance, though old, they may yet have to learn.--_Chorus_ (_in a similar lyrical burst_): she is now maddened with the spirit of vengeance, but she will one day find a nemesis, blow for blow. _Clyt._ solemnly (_in Blank Verse_) swears by the deed she has done, and the curse for which she did it, she has no fear of Nemesis, as lone as Aegisthus is her shield. Meanwhile, there they lie: the wife-wronger and his mistress. {1377} Then follows an elaborate lyrical scene: the _Chorus_ giving vent to their excitement in _Strophes and Antistrophes irregularly succeeding one another_, _Clytaemnestra_ occasionally joining in. O for death, sudden and without lingering, now that our beloved Protector is gone! Ah! Helen! one more deed of woe to your account!--_Clyt._ No need to wish for death or upbraid Helen.--_Cho._ (_interrupting_) O dread Power that dost attack this household, working even through women deeds of dread!--_Clyt._ Now thou art right: it is the Evil Genius of the House that feeds in their hearts the lust of blood; bringing fresh blood-guilt ere the old is healed.--_Cho._ Yes, there is a Power wrathful to the House; but it must be through Zeus he works; what amongst mortal men is wrought apart from Zeus? Ah me! Ah me! {1467} My king, my king, how shall I weep for thee? What shall I speak from heart that truly loves? And now thou liest there, breathing out thy life, In impious deed of death, In this fell spider's web! Yes woe is me! woe, woe! Woe for this couch of thine unhonorable! Slain by a subtle death With sword two-edged, which her right hand did wield.