AGAMEMNON. Daughter of Leda, guardian of my house! Almost thou seem'st to have spun thy welcome out To match my lengthened absence; but I pray thee Praise with discretion, and let other mouths Proclaim my pæans. For the rest, abstain From delicate tendance that would turn my manhood To woman's temper. Not in barbaric wise With prostrate reverence base, kissing the ground, Mouth sounding salutations; not with purple, Breeder of envy, spread my path. Such honors Suit the immortal gods; me, being mortal, To tread on rich-flowered carpetings wise fear Prohibits. As a man, not as a god, Let me be honored. Not the less my fame Shall be far blazoned, that on common earth I tread untapestried. A sober heart Is the best gift of God; call no man happy Till death hath found him prosperous to the close. For me, if what awaits me fall not worse Than what hath fallen, I have good cause to look Bravely on fate. CLYTEMNESTRA. Nay, but my good lord will not In this gainsay my heart's most warm desire. AGAMEMNON. My wish and will thou shalt not lightly mar. CLYTEMNESTRA. Hast thou a vow belike, and fear'st the gods? AGAMEMNON. If e'er man knew, I know my will in this. CLYTEMNESTRA. Had Priam conquered, what had Priam done? AGAMEMNON. His feet had trod the purple; doubt it not. CLYTEMNESTRA. What Priam would, thou may'st, unless the fear Of popular blame make Agamemnon quail. AGAMEMNON. But popular babble strengthens Envy's wing. CLYTEMNESTRA. Thou must be envied if thou wilt be great. AGAMEMNON. Is it a woman's part to hatch contention? CLYTEMNESTRA. For once be conquered; they who conquer may Yield with a grace. AGAMEMNON. And thou in this vain strife Must be perforce the conqueror; is it so? {69} CLYTEMNESTRA. 'Tis even so: for once give me the reins. AGAMEMNON. Thou hast thy will. Come, boy, unbind these sandals,[n65] That are the prostrate subjects to my feet, When I do tread; for with shod feet I never May leave my print on the sea-purple, lest Some god with jealous eye look from afar And mark me. Much I fear with insolent foot To trample wealth, and rudely soil the web Whose precious threads the pure-veined silver buys. So much for this. As for this maid, receive The stranger kindly: the far-seeing gods Look down with love on him who mildly sways. For never yet was yoke of slavery borne By willing neck; of all the captive maids The choicest flower she to my portion fell. And now, since thou art victor o'er my will, I tread the purple to my father's hall.