_Thyestes:_ Oh, then, 'twas this that shamed the gods of heaven, 1035 And drove the day in horror back to dawn! Ah me, what cries shall voice, what plaints express My wretchedness? Where can I find the words That can describe my woe? The severed heads And hands and mangled feet are there; for these Their sire, for all his greed, could not devour. 1040 But Oh, I feel within my vitals now That horrid thing which struggles to be free, But can no exit find. Give me the sword, Which even now is reeking with my blood, That it may set my children free from me. Thou wilt not give it me? Then let my breast 1045 Resound with crushing blows--but hold thy hand, Unhappy one, and spare the imprisoned shades. Oh, who has ever seen such crime as this? What dweller on the rough and hostile crags Of Caucasus, or what Procrustes dire, The terror of the land of Attica? Lo I, the father, overwhelm my sons, 1050 And by those very sons am overwhelmed. Is there no limit to this crime of thine? _Atreus:_ When one for its own sake commits a crime, There is a proper limit; but no end Is possible when vengeance through the crime Is sought. E'en as it is, this deed of mine Is all too mild. I should have poured their blood Straight from their gaping wounds into thy mouth, 1055 That thou mightst drink their very streams of life. But there my wrath was cheated of its due By overhaste. I smote them with the sword, I slaughtered them before the sacred shrine, And with their blood appeased our household gods; I hewed their lifeless bodies limb from limb; I carved them into bits, and part I seethed 1060 In brazen kettles, part before the fire On spits I roasted. From their living limbs I carved the tender flesh, and saw it hiss And sputter on the slender spit, the while With my own hands I kept the fire a-blaze. 1065 But all these things the father should have done. In this my vengeful grief has fallen short. With impious teeth he tore his slaughtered sons; But still in merciful unconsciousness The deed was done and suffered.