_Chor. e._ Yes, we are slow, but they who trample down The thought of hesitation slumber not. _Chor. f._ I know not what advice to find or speak: He who can act knows how to counsel too. 1330 _Chor. g._ I too think with thee; for I have no hope With words to raise the dead again to life. _Chor. h._ What! Shall we drag our life on and submit To these usurpers that defile the house? _Chor. i._ Nay, that we cannot bear: To die were better; For death is gentler far than tyranny. _Chor. k._ Shall we upon this evidence of groans Guess, as divining that our lord is dead? _Chor. l._ When we know clearly, then should we discuss: To guess is one thing, and to know another. 1340 _Chor._[381] So vote I too, and on the winning side, Taking the votes all round that we should learn How he, the son of Atreus, fareth now. _Enter_ CLYTÆMNESTRA _from the palace, in robes with stains of blood, followed by soldiers and attendants. The open doors show the corpses of_ AGAMEMNON _and_ CASSANDRA, _the former lying in a silvered bath_ _Clytæm._ Though many words before to suit the time Were spoken, now I shall not be ashamed The contrary to utter: How could one By open show of enmity to foes Who seemed as friends, fence in the snares of death Too high to be o'erleapt? But as for me, Not without forethought for this long time past, This conflict comes to me from triumph old[382] Of his, though slowly wrought. I stand where I 1350 Did smite him down, with all my task well done. So did I it, (the deed deny I not,) That he could nor avert his doom nor flee: I cast around him drag-net as for fish, With not one outlet, evil wealth of robe: And twice I smote him, and with two deep groans He dropped his limbs: And when he thus fell down I gave him yet a third, thank-offering true[383] To Hades of the dark, who guards the dead. So fallen, he gasps out his struggling soul, And breathing forth a sharp, quick gush of blood, He showers dark drops of gory rain on me, 1360 Who no less joy felt in them than the corn, When the blade bears, in glad shower given of God. Since this is so, ye Argive elders here, Ye, as ye will, may hail the deed, but I Boast of it. And were't fitting now to pour Libation o'er the dead,[384] 'twere justly done, Yea more than justly; such a goblet full, Of ills hath he filled up with curses dire At home, and now has come to drain it off. _Chor._ We marvel at the boldness of thy tongue 1370 Who o'er thy husband's corpse speak'st vaunt like this. _Clytæm._ Ye test me as a woman weak of mind; But I with dauntless heart to you that know Say this, and whether thou dost praise or blame, Is all alike:—here Agamemnon lies, My husband, now a corpse, of this right hand, As artist just, the handiwork: so stands it. STROPHE