_Orest._ See ye this country's tyrant rulers twain, 960 My father's murderers, wasters of his house; Stately were they, seen sitting on their thrones, Friends too e'en now, to argue from their fate, Whose oaths are kept to every pledge they gave. Firmly they swore that they would slay my father, And die together. Well those oaths are kept: And ye who hear these ills, behold ye now Their foul device, as bonds for my poor father, Handcuffs, and fetters both his feet to bind. Come, stretch it out, and standing all around, 970 Show ye the snare that wrapt him o'er, that He May see, our Father,—not of mine I speak, But the great Sun that looks on all we do,— My mother's deeds, defilèd and impure, That He may be a witness in my cause, That I did justly bring this doom to pass Upon my mother.... Of Ægisthos' fate No word I speak. He bears the penalty, As runs the law, of an adulterer's guilt; But she who planned this crime against a man By whom she knew the weight of children borne Beneath her girdle, once a burden loved, But now, as it is proved, a grievous ill, 980 What seems she to you? Had she viper been, Or fell myræna,[461] she with touch alone, *Rather than bite, had made a festering sore With that bold daring of unrighteous mood. What shall I call it, using mildest speech? A wild beast's trap?—a pall that wraps a bier, And hides a dead man's feet?—A net, I trow, A snare, a robe entangling, one might call it. Such might be owned by one to plunder trained, Practised in duping travellers, and the life That robs men of their money; with this trap 990 Destroying many, many deeds of ill His fevered brain might hatch. May such as she Ne'er share my dwelling! May the hand of God Far rather smite me that I childless die! _Chor._ [_looking on_ AGAMEMNON'S _robe._] Ah me! ah me! these deeds most miserable! By hateful murder thou wast done to death. Woe, woe is me! And evil buds and blooms for him that's left. _Orest._ Was the deed hers or no? Lo! this same robe Bears witness how she dyed Ægisthos' sword, And the blood-stain helps Time's destroying work, 1000 Marring full many a tint of pattern fair: *Now name I it, now as eye-witness wail;[462] And calling on this robe that slew my father, Moan for all done and suffered, wail my race, Bearing the foul stains of this victory. _Chor._ No mortal man shall live a life unharmed, *Stout-hearted and rejoicing evermore. Woe, woe is me! One trouble vexes now, another comes.