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The mistress bids me call Aigisthos here

Quickly, to see these two, and learn more clear,

As man from man, the truth of what they tell.

Oh, to us slaves she makes it pitiable

And grievous, and keeps hid behind her eyes

The leaping laughter. Aye, 'tis a rich prize

For her, and for the House stark misery,

This news the travellers tell so trippingly.

And, Oh, Aigisthos, he, you may be sure,

Will laugh to hear it! Ah, I am a poor

Old woman! Such a tangle as they were,

The troubles in this House, and hard to bear,

Long years back, and all aching in my breast!

But none that hurt like this! Through all the rest

Well, I was sore, but lived them down and smiled.

But little Orestes, my heart's care, the child

I took straight from his mother; and save me

He had no other nurse! And, Oh, but he

Could scream and order me to tramp the dark!

Aye, times enough, and trouble enough, and stark

Wasted at that! A small thing at the breast,

That has no sense, you tend it like a beast,

By guesswork. For he never speaks, not he,

A babe in swaddling clothes, if thirst maybe

Or hunger comes, or any natural need.

The little belly takes its way. Indeed,

'Twas oft a prophet he wanted, not a nurse;

And often enough my prophecies, of course,

Came late, and then 'twas clothes to wash and dry,

And fuller's work as much as nurse's. Aye,

I followed both trades, from the day when first